


Canning Town

by BlueStarAngel



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bullying, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sexist Language, Sexual Harassment, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 144,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24112624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueStarAngel/pseuds/BlueStarAngel
Summary: It was December 2017 and Callum Highway was returning home on leave from the army to a life and place that seemed like an eternal hell. Nothing ever changed. Until one day it did.Or Canon divergence AU where the heist never happened. As a result, Callum never came to live in Walford and Ben never left.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 304
Kudos: 329





	1. The Town

During the time of fire, on one of those days when their bodies lay sated and bare next to each other, he had asked Callum a question.

Between quickened breaths, he asked if Callum knew when this all started. He would do this from time to time, show his vulnerability and speak in words more profound than Callum had ever heard. He would say that some things were so gradual they seemed to appear as if from nowhere, like wrinkles around a lived face, or the creeping rainclouds over the sun.

Not some things though, he would add. Others were like flicking on a switch. Just one moment and one choice could change worlds from light to dark.

Callum considered the question, as he ran his finger down the slick curve of the back laying invitingly in front of him, tempting the skin there. He felt so warm. He was always so warm.

There were choices, many that Callum had made in recent months that brought them here, but one stuck in his mind. The decision to go back, to return there at Christmas. That had changed everything.

******

Slinging his holdall over his shoulder, Callum stepped off the bus into the cool December air, nodding his thanks to the driver.

The rough pavement scraped under his feet and the dusty debris coated the ground. The constant whirring of the traffic hovered closely over this part of the city. A continual presence that excreted from the mechanical bustle which swarmed through every street, lane and road.

There were specks of emerald through this city; in some parts a spread of lush green that made you feel like you could almost be in some delicate, country village. However, the track trails from the flying monster machines above and the catching close air were clues that they were deep in a metropolis.

There were no such havens in this part though. The trees were distant and alone, the clipped back branches scolded for daring to brush near the activity of the streets. Their barks were tortured and bases littered. It was a sadder sight than if they weren’t there at all.

As Callum made the short walk, he noticed that nothing had really changed. Where there was once a chicken shop, now stood a vape store, the sickly smoked scents wafting out onto the street, merging with the sodden, open rubbish that had provided a perfect feast for night-time vixens. Further on, what used to be a greengrocer was now chugging out the stench of congealed, burnt fat, with the door littered with bright orange boxes, soggy and tepid chips escaping for their clutches.

This was Canning Town. His home. His prison.

Rounding the corner into the estate, it was almost the same as when he had left months ago. It was as if someone had pressed pause when he’d disappeared, and the place has stood frozen in time under an enchantment from the White Witch.

The three talkative kids leaning against their rusty bikes may have different faces but they always seemed to be a permanent fixture, bickering between themselves. They scowled and growled at any intruder who walked near, like they were Cerberus guarding the Underworld.

Perhaps this was Hell. The looming building was dulled in stone grey, a Victorian blend that seemed to defy the fact the structure was only half a century old. There was no hint of the modern age in the construction though. The dreary colour of the flats fading even more, window after tiny window stamped into a uniform and regimented pattern. A cascade of doors placed on the outside of the walls offered no protection from a private hallway. This was not a neighbourhood where dignity could be afforded.

Approaching his block, he started to climb the staircase, his footsteps echoing in a warning manner as if telling him to turn back. The lift was broken, some ubiquitous joke, though he was sure it worked more often than not. It was at the cruellest times it had let him down and those stuck in his memory.

When he was little, he liked to pretend it was closed because it was a secret underworld entrance for spies and a secret agency had put it in just for him. It would lead to a world that was sodden with myths and magic and treasure he needed to claim. When he used to tell his brother as they were on their way to the chippy, he would look at Callum like he was another species. A pod person who couldn’t possibly be related to him. He would give an awkward smile though. Appeasing it as just another one of his little brother’s absurdities that he would hopefully grow out of with age.

His father’s reaction was not so docile. It wasn’t something he would usually share with his dad but he seemed in a cheerful mood on their way to the pub one day, promising to send Callum out a coke and a bag of crisps if he was good enough. He’d shared his musings with his dad after he had started cursing when he’d found the lift broken down again. Before Callum had finished his sentence, he’d been swiped behind his ear, the sting grazing against his head, as words warned about fairy stories. Accompanying the caution was a string of words he had heard before but not fully understood. Not until he was older.

The familiar sounds of their floor hit his ears. The walls were thin, like pastry, and with one crack they would crumble. Most of the flats did have cracks outside, some unconvincingly covered up and some left to fester like an open wound. A washing of machine whirred strongly as he passed number thirty eight, a sound of affluence, at least when he was a kid and on those days he’d drag a bag at least as big as he was to the laundrette down the street. There were TVs blaring, some to shut out the world and some to shut the muffled cries in. It was never silent, the continuous hum crying into every day and night.

As he reached the door, Callum realised he didn’t have a key. It was a strange feeling after all this time. Every time in fact, that he was on leave from the army. It was a bit of uniqueness, of individuality he supposed, the crooked metal object with so many combinations of grooves and dinks. It was something he felt his spent his whole life running from, the standing out, the difference. He hated it, scoffed at those that claimed the declaration with pride. He didn’t understand it, he tried so hard to fit in, to not stand out yet he did. He always did.

There was a noise coming from the front door. It was the only time he felt happy at that. The last thing he wanted to do was sit out here all afternoon, as his neighbours strolled by, some wanting to chat about the army. Some giving him a spit of disdain. All of them just seeing the uniform. Hiding brought out a certain amount of attention and while only a few short days ago that aspect of his life made him fit in, now it made him an outcast.

Raising his knuckles he paused, the daydream of not going in, of spending his leave a different way fluttered down and noticed him. What if he just left? What if he went elsewhere? He’d been offered a job, some security gig around a different part of London, quite near to where their friend Mick lived. What if he took up that offer?

There were times he almost convinced himself he would do it, just disappear to a place that no one knew him for a few months. Just run away. The voice in his head told him that you could only be somewhere else for so long until they start to know you. Before it’s not somewhere new and you aren’t a blank canvas any more. Then you have to run again.

Rapping on the door lightly, he felt his whole body tense. It was exhausting already, having to keep your mask on inside your own front door. It was a different one than the army. He carried them around, these masquerades, swapping and changing, hoping he was holding the right one up at the right time.

There was a click, light and quick and a small slither of space appeared as the door crawled open just a touch, as if just opening one eye to see who would want to enter.

Callum pushed at the door, the flaky paint feeling sharp on the pads of his fingers. He felt like he was a character in a horror movie, walking into a trap, only he was also in the audience, screaming at himself to go back, bellowing at his stupidity.

Peaking his head around the door, he shuffled inside. The lounge looked mostly as he remembered it; the faded beige carpet patterned with underwhelming swirls of murky brown. It was practically thread bare in parts, worn down from scuffling boots and scrubbed stains.

There wasn’t much furniture, and what there was would have been second hand. A sofa patched up, laden with dented pillows, musty and ash ridden. One sideboard littered with knickknacks he remembered being around his whole life. No sentimentality, no meaning, just pieces of junk they chose to keep littered in the lounge and stare at every day of their life. It wasn’t as if they were kept pristine and proudly displayed. A thick layer of grime and dust always covered and muted them. There were bills and envelopes scattered around them on the shelves, bits of old chewing gum wrappers, scraps of loose coppers and old receipts.

It was always the same, including the man slouched on the far end of the couch, a half empty bottle of beer in his hand as he scowled at the 3.44 winner from Kempton Park that was crossing the line. His father’s eyes stuck to the television though he must have known Callum had come in. It wasn’t worth missing the placing in the horse race though. There were priorities to think about.

Before Callum could put his bag down, he was grabbed in gripping embrace. If nothing else, at least Stuart was happy to see him home. For now at least. He knew his brother was easily distracted, and though he wouldn’t mean to ignore him, something would take his attention away once the novelty of Callum being back wore off.

“There’s our little soldier!” he said clapping him on the back. “How long you back for?”

“A couple of months,” he replied, as though time really made a difference. It didn’t matter where he was, he dreaded the place he was going even more. Stuck in this circular and repeating hell.

Stuart nodded his head. “Good, I’ve missed spending time with my baby brother!” he said, pulling him closer. “Dad look, Callum’s back.”

Jonno finally tore his view away from the television, his attention no longer needed as the winning horse was trotted around the paddock and the others had their heads lowered in disgrace as they dragged their hooves along the path. “Well I didn’t think it was Shirley Bassey poncing through our door with a holdall did I?” he replied, motioning to get up.

There was always this moment, when his dad approached him, that he was never too sure of the reaction. Usually there were warning signs; shouting, glasses crashing, swearing and banging, where Callum would go into flight mode, his eyes wide and heart hectic. Then there was the whistling, the singing, the sound of a betting slip being rustled with glee and he knew it would be one of those times he could stop, just for a second and relax. Not for too long, never for too long, but just a second before everything fell apart again.

This time, he didn’t know until the last second, when his dad staggered up to him, with a beer in his hand, wearing the same polo shirt he had on the day Callum left. Pulling him down for a brief hug, his dad slapped him on the back. “Welcome home boy!” he said, as he pulled away. “You deserve a break after doing your duty. Go get yourself a beer and watch the geegees with me. Got a score on this mare in the next race. Had a tip from Bo-Eyed Derek who knows the trainer.”

Callum gave a smile back, knowing that his dad’s mood would last the fourteen minutes it took for the hot tip to gallop languidly home in fifth place. Stuart was there though, and looking expectantly at him to sit down and join them. Callum walked into the kitchen, plates and bowls scattered everywhere, the food dried to just pattern the dishes. There was a stench of rot drifting from the bin as the bag overflowed and his feet stuck slightly to the lino as he walked, making tiny little pops every time he tried to lift his heels. It felt like the whole place was trying to cling onto him, to claw him down and back into its grip.

Unsurprisingly, the hot tip for the horse hadn’t come through, and the air in the flat had darkened for the rest of the afternoon. There was no more mention of Callum’s service, of his break and no more welcoming gestures. He was back sitting on the same couch cushion, flinching with ever curse and raise of his dad’s bottle. Stuart was in and out the room as usual, on his phone, then sitting in front of the tv, and then back out to the kitchen. While Callum was stillness, Stuart was movement, never staying in the same place for too long, never focusing on one thought for more than a moment.

The smell of bacon wafted through the front room, and Callum could hear the familiar sizzle. It was would be a fry up for dinner. It was always fried food when it was the three of them, with any combination of the dry proteins they had in the fridge slathered in supermarket brand baked beans that were never quite heated enough. They never asked Callum to cook, either of them, unless it was to help with the fry up. He had tried in the past, to add some flavour and variety but it had only ended up in the bin.

Once Stuart had finished cooking, they all sat with their plates on their laps, wobbling precariously as the cutlery scratched into the china. If they had ever owned a dining room table, then Callum couldn’t remember it. People didn’t come over for dinner at their flat; they may sometimes arrive at meal times, and may eat, but never as an occasion.

“I thought we could go down The Pig after tea,” Stuart suggested, with a mouthful of egg. He posed the question like it was something special, a celebratory outing to mark Callum’s homecoming. It wasn’t. They always went down The Pig, whether he was there or not. Always had done since he was little and always would until they were all in the ground. “Have a few pints to toast Wonderboy’s return.”

“Don’t see why not,” his Dad had commented, like he was pushing the boat out for his son. As if he wouldn’t spend the evening laughing with his mates, slipping further and further into oblivion so that Callum prayed and begged that the worst he’d have to deal with when they got home was the stench of vomit on the lounge carpet as his dad rocked and shuffled to collapse into his bedroom.

“Yeah, should be good to see all the old faces again,” he added, once he saw Stuart’s expectant look. He hated to disappoint his brother when he was trying so hard, and when he was sometimes the only person Callum could ask of anything. He never really did of course, but he felt that if he needed to, if there was something if desperately wanted, he could share that with Stuart. “Catch up on everything that’s been going on.”

The thought of seeing those same people filled him with dread. The same faces, the same questions, the same jokes at his expense, the same thinly veiled insults and the same glint of contempt in their eyes at his otherness. He never felt like one of them, no matter what he tried and he knew they could sense that in him. Instead, he just followed along into the same pattern, willing and hoping for the day he could walk out that pub for the last time and never go back.

It was only a short journey from the flat to The Pig, one that Callum had walked more than a thousand times in his life. The trip there was always the same, but the walk back was always different. He would never know if he’d be pacing in tears, tripping with laughs, staggering with drink or marching with rage.

The Pig didn’t have a large exterior, hidden in the parade of shops with just an old sign up above the door that hadn’t been repainted in years. Callum walked up the couple of concrete steps that led to the heavy wooden door. A lot of his childhood memories came from sitting on those steps, observing the people that went by as he waited. He used to make us stories about who they were and where they were going, imagining they had these exciting secret lives that betrayed their grey faces and drooped shoulders.

Right inside the door, there was a staircase leading up to the bar and a second toilet. Callum remembered it used to be the only one, but after patron after patron had simply relieved themselves outside on the landing rather than make their way down the staircase, they adapted the upstairs. It was probably the only change to the whole building in the past sixty years.

The wallpaper that surrounded the staircase was a garish mustard yellow, printed with repeated cubes that would play havoc with your eyes if you stared for too long. There were many times that Callum had pulled himself down that staircase, his mind heavy with intoxication and the walls just playing into his disorientation.

Following Jonno and Stuart up the staircase, he couldn’t help but take a quick glance up when they reached the landing, the door to the bar right in front of them. Just to the right was another set of stairs that led to darkness. At the top was a small function room, barely ever utilised, and now mainly used for storage. When everything got too much, or too loud or he felt the pressure in his head building and building, he used to creep up the stairs and into the pitch black room. He’d open up the curtains and use all his force to pull at the catch on the window, opening it up and breathing deeply as the fresh air quenched his body. It was his own little secret. One of his many.

The simple door leading to the pub had ‘Saloon Bar’ printed on the glass, as if anyone would be mistaken. Surrounding the door were multiple panes of glass, each bright with a different colour of the rainbow. Callum always chose to ignore them and not think of the significance of what surrounded him. If it stayed at the back of his head, and you didn’t think about it, then it couldn’t be true.

The actual bar was simple, modest and one that didn’t portray what decade they were living in. There were few bottles on display, just a few house spirits surrounded by water-stained glasses of different sizes. There were just a few pumps on the wooden surface, the choice of larger limited and a few cartons of crisps were haphazardly stacked on the back wall, with a blanket of pock scratchings just above.

Decorated in tones of tan and beige, the rest of the room felt limp and lifeless. The only personal touches being the football paraphernalia grudgingly littered; a West Ham scarf above the bar, a shield on the back shelf and a stadium road sign tacked to the wall. There were the flags of course. A large Union Jack hanging proudly, boldly and defensively, and a few strands on bunting with just the English flag, limiting the tolerance even further.

The carpet was smooth and unremarkable, the once bright blue and red pattern faded into the background so you could almost notice no colour at all. Three bright, white beams extended up from the ground bursting through the suspended ceiling with no finesse. There was no attempt to make this place inviting, no effort to try and draw people back. The patrons who entered this room had no where else to go.

As though pulled from a different era, seating was covered in lumpy, bumpy rust leather, harsh and unrelenting, and certainly not designed for comfort. There were a few customers in the pub, the usual for an evening when there was no sport on the outdated television that stood in the corner. Even when there was an event, it was rarely packed, most preferring a more atmospheric environment.

The only difference about the whole place since Callum left, was the pathetic display of Christmas decorations that were straggled around the room. A white tree stood wonkily in the corner, multicoloured light flashing lazily over the mismatched baubles. A stoic angel sat on top, her wings bent and halo drooped. There were some strands of tinsel covering the shelves and surfaces, moulted and dulled, laying like slackened earthworms.

“Go sit down, I’ll get them in,” Stuart offered, as though if they left it a moment longer they would struggle to find a table. Callum and his dad went to a booth, the one they almost always sat in. The monotony hit him hard as his dad signalled his hello to one of the regulars, pouring over The Sun with a thimble of watery beer still slopping around in his glass.

This would be his life for the next few months; day after day of tiptoeing around his dad and placating his brother, and night after night of sitting in the same booth, drinking the same beer, smiling awkwardly at the same faces and having the same conversations. And nothing would ever change.

Until it did.

In just a few weeks time, when the decorations had been taken down and stored in the crumbling, mouldy cardboard box for another year, Callum would find himself behind that bar looking at him. Leaning casually, with his outstretched hand, saying the most important words that Callum would ever hear. He would say them as if they were nothing, looking at him with those eyes that were still in the time of ice; burning sharply before they could ever be used to soothe. He’d say those most important words as if they were nothing, mere sounds that were meant to fly through Callum’s life without him ever stopping to catch them.

He’d say the most important words. The ones that would linger on Callum’s lips, and burst into his heart and shatter his soul. He’d say the words that would fuel his lust, his life and his love.

Those words he’d say.

“Ben Mitchell.”


	2. The Pub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonno (and gang) are not good persons, so their language and actions are insulting and nasty, just as a warning!

Picking at the cold overcooked egg on the plate, Callum was grateful in a way that it wasn’t a traditional Christmas dinner. He had tried it in their flat a few times, arranging a small turkey and trimmings, but by the time it was cooked, his dad was in no mood to eat. One year, he had staggered to the table knocking the gravy over, the dark brown sauce coating everything, including Jonno. The rest of the plate was thrown at the bin, the vegetables hitting the faded wallpaper above it. Callum spent two hours scrubbing the marks off, but they still remained if you looked closely.

That was a Christmas without Stuart around, but even the ones he attended never ended much better. Despite everything, Callum loved the build up of the season because it was hopeful. In the back of his mind though, he knew it never ended that way.

When he was a lot younger, there were happier Christmases where Grandad had been there too. Once he went into the nursing home, they had deteriorated, just seeing him for moments on that day.

The last few years didn’t even hold a few grateful minutes at all after Grandad died. At least when he was alive, there was a chance of a happy memory. He remembered one year, when he was about ten, a friend of his grandad knitted him a woolly hat, and a sweater, with bright blue wool and decorated with a large smiling snowman. Callum pulled them on proudly and happily.

That day when he returned from the care home, he went down to the courtyard to kick about a football, one he had for years and was practically as flat as a pancake. A couple of boys from the year above him from school spotted him, and thought he must have been an easy target. They came over, berating him and mocking him, not even stopping between breaths. They weren’t big lads or any of the terrifying ones that limbered around the estate. They were just trying to prove themselves; how dominant they could be and how weak he was compared to them.

Callum felt it building in him, this rage that hurtled through his body sometimes. It exploded from him suddenly and tenaciously, raising a quick fist to jab one of them clean in the mouth, only realising what he had done when he drew his hand back and saw the crimson splattering his knuckles.

They had retaliated of course. There were two of them and he was just some pathetic Year Seven with the ratty clothes who used to get told off for coming in late, and now dared to be in their space with a woolly hat and a snowman jumper.

His dad had kicked off when he came in, calling him out for getting picked on, hurling the hat off his head with a slur, and telling him that a real man wouldn’t need it in the cold. It wasn’t until he saw the bruising of Callum’s fist, that he clapped him on the back and got him a beer from the fridge. He was proud he’d expended this rage, like it was something unnatural in Callum. It wasn’t. He felt it building every day of his life, this hurricane of emotion inside, swirling around with no outlet. He didn’t want to become like Jonno and only use his fists.

It was just another disappointing Christmas to add to the list. This was no exception. There had been Christmases in the army, that felt a little more celebratory, but everyone around him just used to reminisce about their past festive celebrations, and Callum was left without any stories to tell.

A burnt fried egg, a few rashers of cheap fatty bacon, grizzly sausages, acidic baked beans and a few rounds of fried slice was considered a celebratory meal in their home. Christmas brunch is what they had to do so there was plenty of time for the pub later. This was ‘stomach lining food’, his dad and brother always told him. There hadn’t been any presents, not really. Stuart brought them round each a couple of bottles of hooky whiskey, as if they didn’t have enough alcohol in the place already.

The walk to the pub felt the same, but Callum couldn’t help but think of what was going on in those houses they passed, with the slightly drawn curtains that he could sometimes take a peek through. The light beaming out, sprinkling over its occupants, as he was taking a walk through darkness.

There was all the familiar crowd in the bar when they reached The Pig. He wouldn’t exactly call it bustling but the customers that were there were noisy, far much more than they needed to be. He always wondered about that, the battle to cackle the loudest, to slap on the back harder, to throw back the pint with the largest audience, to tell the punch line of a joke with the loudest boom in their voice. Callum wondered why they didn’t want to hide. Why they were so happy to get focus on them?

There was a loud cat call of his dad’s name, and Jonno crossed the rest of the room, his arms stretched out wide as he hollered back. He easily fell into this world, embraced the prospect of being loud and noticed.

His dad pulled up his chair and joined the crowd but that’s not where Callum wanted to be. He wanted to be in the corner booth away from it all. One of these men on their own was fine. He’d happily chat over a beer, but when they were together it’s like they moulded into this gutting, vicious monster that would sniff out the weakest and prey on it. That was him. He was weak and would be the centre of attention. He was different and command their chat.

Stuart pulled up a chair to the table as well, so Callum was left with no option, getting a rickety stool and perching behind his brother’s shoulder, hoping to stay out the way.

“Jonno, mate, you should have seen these tarts that waddled in here ‘bout half hour ago. Skirts up to their elbows and fanny on show,” Dogger bellowed out. He was around his dad’s age, but even cruder and with the eyes of a fox; hunting and picking on any flaw he could see around him. “I told Al he should take them up stairs and given them a right sorting. Two for one as a Chrissy present!”

“Give off, Dad!” Alan replied, shaking his head at his father. They couldn’t have looked more different in appearance, Dogger’s son having none of that beetroot cheeked puff to his face. Instead he was cottage-cheese pale, with hollowed eyes and lips as thin as thread. He was around Callum’s age, but could have been mistaken for much older. He was much softer than his father, and he’d always seemed to like Callum, buying him drinks and willing to hear about the army. “The size of that second mare, I’d need a tow truck to get her up there!”

Though there was that biting side to him too. The side that would be friendly to Callum when they were alone, but would be one of the first to mock him when they were in a group. There was never any jest to Alan’s jibes either; there was a bitterness in his comments, a bite and a snarl. There was part of Callum that sympathised. Alan had a wife, married young, with two infants at home. He was never down the pub as much as he used to be, only on occasion. He liked to think that his outbursts at Callum were to do with that, maybe feeling left out of the group. Or maybe he really was just that cruel.

“Come off it, Al! I remember what it was like with a couple of young nippers at home,” Hollins roared out. He was another one that was his father’s age, his shirt hugging tight over the rolls of his belly. Everyone said he was so thick that he could set solid, but there was still a coarseness to his language showing he knew the right words to say to his crowd. “I’m sure it wouldn’t have taken you much effort to get it up there!”

They table fell around laughing at the entendre, and Callum smiled despite himself. The corners of his lips teared at his inside though, feeling tight and cracked with the resistance. He wished he could speak out, to defend these girls even though he hadn’t met them. That wasn’t who Callum was though, and that wasn’t his role in his place.

“You had a crack at that bit your sister’s brought with her, Kev?” Chunky asked, clearly rolling the waves of the polluted conversation. He was a little younger than Callum, and as thin as a rake. There wasn’t a curse or a dirty word that he didn’t like the sound of, constantly rolling them from his lips, toxifying the air with scum and seediness.

Kevin simply gave a shake of his head. He was in his early thirties and far too good a guy to be loitering in a place like The Pig. This place dragged people down though, captured them with their claws and never let go. He was almost a permanent fixture here, as if addicted to a drug that only served to sicken. Often he would be accompanied by his younger sister, Holly, who brought a different friend with her every time. They’d sit in the bar and gawp at the regulars like they were something impressive, or to something to aspire to. It wasn’t something that Callum understood. Why would anyone be here unless they had nowhere else to go?

“Nah, not my type,” Kevin said, sipping slowly on his beer. “I’m seeing a bird over on North Lane anyway.”

“How bout you then, Halfway?” Chunky said, turning towards him. “You not want to give little Judy Harrison over there the ride of her life? She was in my year at school; a right little goer by all accounts.”

That was it. All eyes were on him, the moment he always hated, and dreaded. He used to convince himself it would never be so bad when it happened. There were points that he thought he could handle it. Now though, under the stares, he had the same reaction he always did. He couldn’t meet anyone’s eye, but felt them burning and burrowing, causing his whole skin to itch. There was a lightness in his head, that caused everything to fuzz around him, like time was stopping. It was a sensation that poured all the way down to his toes, freezing his insides.

“Nah,” he could only mutter out, his cheeks sure to be blushing up like bruises, as he gave a lopsided smile, his mouth caught between the choice of reactions. His answer was monosyllabic, and sounded unsure, and certainly one that could be pounced on with ease.

“You must be gasping for it after all those months in the barracks,” Dogger belched out, his face seeming to plunder rounder and more violet than ever. “Can’t be fussy when a bit of pussy is so easy for the taking!”

The rest of the men cackled again like a herd of gristly hyenas, while Dogger thrust his groin up as he turned his meat paws into a grip holding some poor imaginary soul that was taking his prods.

“Especially with only men surrounding you when you snuggle up at night,” Alan spat in, chewing on his lip like he was gnawing on a scavenged bone. “Unless that took your fancy of course!”

Callum could deflect a comment like this, he had years and years of practise to bat away any suggestion that came his way. They were never said with a serious tone; it wouldn’t be something that anyone of them would want to believe. It was just a way to insult, a way they thought would belittle.

“They have women in the army, you know,” he replied, a little more forcefully.

“Course they do!” Jonno bleated in with haste. It didn’t pass Callum by that it was at this moment he chose to agree with his son. “Gotta have something for those soldiers to work out their aggression on, don’t they? My boy’s got it on tap!”

“Here, Halfway, we’re starting the Sunday League back after New Year,” Kevin said, and Callum felt his body settle at the change in conversation. “You fancy coming back? I know it’ll only be for a few weeks but we could do with a decent winger.”

Callum nodded thankfully, as the conversation turned to football. He had made it through. Another of those moments that felt like he was walking blindfolded across a busy street and had finally felt his feet hit the kerb. Relief was the sensation, though his body stilled again as he saw Judy Harrison smile at him from her seat at the bar.

It was only a few days later that they were back in the pub; his dad, Stuart and him squeezed into their regular booth. It was busy that night though, one of the regular’s birthday which meant all the others crawled in, like insects fleeing from a log that had been kicked over. It also meant that the drink was flowing quickly and excessively, as the customers turned to spirits rather than just supping on a tepid pint.

This included his father, who was on his third whiskey already, surveying the room like an emperor on a throne, commenting on all that was going on.

“There’s that tart that was in here at Christmas,” Jonno remarked, nodding towards the bar. “Go on son, have a punt.”

He motioned towards the stools, where Judy sat perched again, a vodka and cranberry held poised in her hand. She took gentle sips from the straw as her gaze kept creeping over towards Callum.

“I think you’re in there, brother of mine!” Stuart said, clapping him on the back. There was a smile on his face, one that didn’t reach his eyes which were willing and hopelessly desperate. “Go work your charm!”

There was nothing he could do this time, no conversation would be started to save him, and no excuse would cover him. His family was looking at him expectantly, their eyes like hawks, circling with their sharpened beaks ready to tear and scrap at any weakness. Callum smiled at them, sliding out the booth and heading towards the bar.

This wasn’t the first time he had approached a girl at the ribbing from his family and friends. Callum had been encouraged, pushed, prodded and jabbed into this situation since he was old enough to drink. Before that even. No one raised an eye when Jonno’s son ordered a pint at fifteen. It was like an indoctrination into this place. The earlier the better they used to say. Ever since then, every time one of the local girls came in, he was encouraged to go talk to her, to claim her as if she were prized piece of cattle.

When he was younger, he was able to prevent it a few times. The woman would be older, and he got an iota of sympathy for being young and inexperienced. He was allowed that when he was fifteen or sixteen. That understanding soon drifted away, like the pappus of a dandelion disappearing from the air over time. There was expectation then. Callum shouldn’t be inexperienced any more. He should want to get these women, have this greasy desperation to take them home like the rest of the men did.

But he didn’t. He liked talking to people; he enjoyed that part, but always lingering over the conversation was the expectation that he would make a move at some point. He knew he was being watched, by his dad, Stuart, all the other guys in the bar who would want to see him leave with the girl, ready to pounce with the digs and jibes when Callum walked away from her.

That wasn’t specific to just him. The bar would tease any of the blokes that walked back to their table after being turned down. For them it was a defeat though, they wanted to prove themselves and shuffle off out with what they considered their prize. It was a degrading, pitying and horrific interaction to watch. And Callum just wished he could want it.

He approached Judy with a smile, as she was swishing her straw back and forth in her claret drink. When she spotted him, she immediately placed the glass on the bar and sat up straighter, playing with the end of her ashen blonde hair mindlessly with her fingers. “Hi Callum,” she said, her voice quietly sweet. He didn’t really remember talking to her before, though he knew her by sight and a little by reputation, though he himself knew never to believe what other people said about a person. They would always pitch wrong. “Heard you was back from the army.”

“You alright, Judy?” he asked, perching on the bar stool next to her, one foot still touching the floor as though it was ready to run at any moment. “Yeah I got back on leave just before Christmas. You want another drink?”

Callum ordered them both a drink, his stomach lurching slightly as the acidic berry scent of Judy’s glass was placed in front of him. They chatted with ease for the next thirty minutes, Callum asking all about her job at the Co-Op and him telling her about the army. Not all of it of course. He always had a stock set of answers for civilians. Ones that wouldn’t disturb their sensitive capabilities, that wouldn’t fuel their nightmares and make their blood lurch.

After their second drink, Judy placed her delicate hand on his knee. He had made a joke, a terrible one. She had thrown her head back and laughed with the humour of the vodka, and then settled her fingers on his leg in one simple movement. It was tried, practiced and experienced. Everything that Callum wasn’t.

He attempted to ignore the presence and but it prickled at his skin, like a heated stone that started to burn and burn, the flesh blistering and every nerve screaming at his body to just knock it off. It was an intrusion because he knew the intention behind it. He knew where this would head; there would be no brush off from the girl in front of him.

“I got a load of vinyl,” he told, her answering her question about music. “I just think it sounds better on a player. It’s where most my wages go, truth be told. Got a whole shelf in my bedroom.”

It wasn’t until the words left his lips that he realised the inference that could be made. Callum was just genuinely excited to tell someone about his music collection, but he wasn’t so naïve that he didn’t kick himself when he realised the mention of his bedroom could be taken as an invite. By the look on Judy’s face, it wasn’t missed and her eyes widened happily as there was finally a hook she could grip onto.

“I’d love to see them all,” she said, her voice seeming too sweet now, almost saccharine to Callum’s ears. “I don’t really fancy another drink, why don’t we go have a look now?”

There was no going back, there was nothing that Callum could do to get out of agreeing to taking her home. His dad and brother were over in the corner, their eyes willing him on, so she would know the flat would be empty. There was nothing he could do apart from tell her he didn’t want to. There would be questions then, and the answer to ‘why’ was one he couldn’t get to form on his lips. The answer that wouldn’t leave his tongue, and never should.

Callum nodded to Judy, as he pulled on his jacket, and put a soft hand on her back to lead her out before too many people noticed. As there was a cackle of hoots and hollers behind him, he knew he was unsuccessful.

When they arrived back to the flat, Callum was hoping to delay things a little, offering a cup of tea to Judy. “You gonna show me this great collection then?” she replied, ignoring the question completely and leaning on the arm of the sofa, still twiddling the straw-like strands of her hair.

Callum headed in the direction of his bedroom, opening the door and letting Judy in first. It was neat and pristine, in such a contrast to the rest of the flat. It could have been his time in the army that caused this, but in truth that’s just how Callum wanted it kept. There was comfort in its conformity, until he realised that perhaps it was his way of rebelling. It wouldn’t look like it to anyone else, just his own little secret rebellion.

Judy immediately went to sit on the bed, kicking off her shoes, and dragging her feet under her to perch cross legged on the duvet cover. Callum couldn’t help but notice that the blanket began to crease, and his space, the one that was his small bit of safety in this town, had been intruded upon.

Feeling his throat stick together, like it was closing up, its walls moving together like a trap, Callum swallowed deeply and headed to his record player. He didn’t pay attention to the sleeve he grabbed, as his mind became hurtled with the possibilities of what would happen next. Once the music was on, his eyes darted around the room, anywhere but to the girl planted on his bed. “Can I get you a cold drink? Or a beer?” he offered, needing to get out the room. The air felt thick and pressurised, like the inside of a vacuum and it was hauling all the breath from his lungs. “I think we might have some coffee knocking about if you wanted some?”

Judy just gave him a gentle smile, as the rhythm of the music chugged away behind him. She patted the mattress gently. “Come sit on the bed next to me,” she offered, though there was no option for refusal.

Callum settled down as the mattress dipped slightly with his weight. He perched as close to the edge as possible, hands clasped tightly in his lap as his head bopped to the music. Eyes focusing on the wardrobe in front of him, he didn’t dare to look to the side, hoping that if he didn’t see her then nothing could happen. That was quickly dispelled though when he felt fingers grab at his hand and pull it away from his lap.

At first he thought she was just going to hold it, and he relaxed a little. That was fine with him, sitting together with someone nice and holding their hand. There was comfort in that, and enjoyment in feeling close to someone one with a clasp on their palm. The look on Judy’s face changed though, and he could feel his fingers begin to tremble as she lifted his hand and put it on her breast. She smiled at him. Still with the same smile, like it was supposed to mean something to him, like it was a set of instructions that should tell him what to do or feel. It wasn’t though; it just added to the confusion and mess he was experiencing, like he was trying to decode a message in a language he didn’t speak.

They sat there in awkwardness for a moment. Callum didn’t move his fingers, frozen still at where she had placed them. He still couldn’t even look. It would feel too real. He remembered once when he was little, there was a school trip to the zoo. They were given to opportunity to pet, stroke and hold all kinds of different animals; spiders, snakes, rats and different insects. Callum enjoyed it and enthusiastically held his hand out for all the animals the zookeeper placed there. Until they got to the centipede.

There was something about all the legs, moving in waves as one, that turned his stomach. Callum didn’t want to hold the beast, but he also didn’t want to seem scared in front of the rest of his class. “Just don’t look,” his teacher had told him. So he had turned his eyes away, holding out his shaking little hand, telling himself that the soft tickle he felt was just a light feather.

There was part of him that tried to do that now; his brain started to pretend that it wasn’t a woman’s body he was touching, that his hands fell on something else, on someone else. This strategy wasn’t as harmless as just transferring his thoughts to the feather though. The images that started to enter his mind were dangerous in so many different ways.

Instead, he turned his head and looked at Judy, still not meeting her eyes, letting them remain fuzzy and distorted in his view. “Do you want to kiss me?” she asked. He didn’t. Not even a little bit, so there was no point in answering. He simply lent his head forwards and pressed his lips to hers. There was a stickiness there, from the remnants of her lip gloss that hadn’t ended up on the top of her straw. He kept his eyes open at first, the peachy blurred tone of her cheek filling his gaze, but when she drew back a little, he shut them quickly, afraid she’d see the panic that settled there.

This wasn’t the first girl that Callum had kissed. It had never felt unpleasant, or turned his stomach, but it just felt off. It wasn’t this magical feeling that he thought he was supposed to experience. He spent years thinking there was something wrong with him, that he was broken in a way that the other guys around him didn’t seem to be, but maybe it was because he was chasing something that wasn’t there in the first place. It was a fairy story, to believe that you kiss someone and get a flash of feeling bolt through your body. He realised that perhaps this was what it was supposed to feel like; nothing at all.

It was monotonous, to keep capturing her lips again and again. She was a pretty girl, and a nice one, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. Eventually her hand moved over his own where it still lay lifeless on her breast. She pressed down, willing him to move his fingers, for him to do anything.

Immediately, Callum pulled his hand away, the act feeling invasive, and the direction not being specific enough to know what she really wanted. He wished she’d tell him with words, because at least then he’d have some idea. Instead, she grabbed his hand back, this time putting it under her jumper. As soon as his fingers touched her smooth skin, he leaped back as though he received a static shock. It wasn’t a conscious move, but his body was fighting with his brain constantly and decided for itself what it wanted to do.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, as Judy straightened up her jumper and rubbed her lips together. “I think I’m just feeling a little bit drunk.”

Callum didn’t know if she believed him or not. It wasn’t the most convincing lie he had ever told, and he had told a few in his life, but it would do for now. It wouldn’t be one he could use again. The fact that he was twenty six years old and fumbling and flinching like a young teenager, seemed to convince her that it must be the drink. There had to be some explanation why a man his age didn’t take quick advantage of a woman offering herself to him.

Judy gave a slightly frustrated sigh, and he couldn’t blame her. “Another time, yeah?” he promised, the sin leaving his lips so easily. She seemed to brighten at that statement, but the guilt and expectation of a future time filled him with more than dread. “Do you want to stay for a bit?”

There was a little reluctance in her nod, but she sat back on the bed anyway. Perhaps she was hopeful that Callum would change his mind, or would sober up a little, just enough to want to carry on. That wasn’t the reason why he asked her though, as they sat in silence in his room, the music jumbling around them. The reason came twenty minutes later when he heard the front door slam shut.

“I’ll walk you home,” Callum said, jumping quickly off the bed, and going to the door. He waited impatiently as Judy scooped her shoes back on.

There was shame in his stance as he led Judy out of his bedroom and into the view of his dad. He had used her, dreadfully, and there was disgust with himself that he took advantage of this girl; this normal, nice woman who he was dragging into his façade.

Jonno’s face scrunched into a harsh grin when he saw the two of them; thankfully he didn’t say a word when Callum muttered he was walking Judy across the estate. That would come later, the ‘proud’ words of delight he expected later in the evening, and the less the gentle jibes he expected at The Pig the next time he was in there. Jonno wouldn’t keep this to himself. There never seemed to be much he could brag about Callum, but this would make him happy. This would prove his son was a real man.

Judy would hear those rumours, he knew that, but she had enough of a reputation for Callum to know she wouldn’t correct them. That made him ever so sad for both of them. Living their lies, putting on an act and trying to make it through every day living up to expectations.

It was a short walk to her flat on the other side of the estate, and he made sure she opened the front door before he left. He leaned down and gave her a peck on the cheek, a genuine show of affection, before he lumbered home, working out all the lines and reactions in his head that he would have to slather onto his face and out of his mouth.

It didn’t take long for him to get through the front door before his dad staggered up to him, beer can in hand and jeering loudly. “That’s my boy!” he exclaimed, giving Callum harsh pats on the cheek that stung with untruths. “Not only did he get her back here and give her a good slamming after only half an hour of brassing her up, but he managed to get her out straight after! None of these namby hugs and cuddles with a Highway lad. Bang, Bang, Shoot, and they’re gone!”

“Dad,” Callum said, with shy laugh, not encouraging the fabrication but certainly not doing anything to contradict it. “She’d got an early shift at the Co-Op tomorrow, that’s all.”

“Don’t be so modest, son!” Jonno said, strolling back into the lounge. “Us Highway men can give them what they need, and send them on their way. Come on then. I want all the details, not that I ain’t heard them all from a dozen blokes before.”

“Callum don’t kiss and tell, Dad,” a voice from the kitchen said, and for the first time he realised that his brother was there. “It ain’t him, you know that. Leave him alone.

Stuart smiled at him, but his eyes were still pressing, still moving and thinking, trying to piece everything together. “I don’t want to hear about the kissing part, do I?” Jonno clarified, before thankfully dropping the subject when a presenter came on the television that he couldn’t stand. “Look at this twat! Why is no one normal on the telly these days?”

Callum breathed, grateful that it would be the end of the subject now. He made his way back to his bedroom, bidding them both a goodnight, and not noticing how Stuart’s eyes seemed to follow him.

“There ain’t no one below the age of forty in that team, so the only trouble they’ll give us is trying not to trip over their saggy nutsacks as we bolt up the pitch.”

Kevin was giving his usual scathing team talk before the match. It wasn’t exactly Premier League. They were part of a seven-a-side Sunday mini league that involved a few of the local Eastend pubs, and Callum had always enjoyed taking part on his breaks from the army. There was no training days, opposition research or clever tactics. They turned up, played and then went back to the pub.

It suited Callum fine. He loved the feeling of just belting down the wing, the dewy grass hitting his legs during a sliding tackle. He didn’t even care about playing when it rained; the sticky, slippy mud coating his body by the end. The air freed him, the lack of conversation made his head feel at peace, and this was something he was good at.

“Well hopefully they’ll all pass out before half time and we can get some extra drinking time in,” Chucky called out. “Though I doubt I’ll work up a thirst by the look at them, but then don’t need an excuse to get on it later do I?”

Chunky was always in goal, his reed thin body usually flying down five seconds too late to save the ball hitting the back of the net. Three more of the locals made up the team, but today they had a new member too. “This is Lewis,” Kevin had introduced him as when they walked into the changing room that morning. “He normally plays for The Rose, but half their team’s down with the shits and their match is postponed, so he’s come to ours for this game. Roy called me last night, got some family do, so he’s off for today.”

It wasn’t instantaneous, nor was it overwhelming, but as they sat in the changing room, Callum couldn’t help that his eyes kept glancing down at Lewis’ thighs. Every time he tried to look away, it was like he had an itch that needed scratching and his gaze darted back to the man’s legs. They weren’t anything special or that different to the other guys, not really, but he found himself wanting to drift over to where he was sitting and gently stroke his fingers through the fine hair there. It was all he could think about during Kevin’s team talk. It was the only thought that took his attention.

Callum cleared his throat, muttering to the other guys that he was going to get in some extra warm up time, as he left the changing room. He breathed in the air outside eagerly, pacing down the line of the pitch over and over again, giving himself a reason for the breath to catch in his throat, making an explanation for why his heart had sped up

Most of the time he could ignore it. Most of his life he could bury it down and pretend that these thoughts never entered his head. There was just the odd occasion that he couldn’t stop it. He could never predict when it was going to happen, or even why but he just knew that they hovered over him like a tidal wave. It wasn’t as if he found Lewis that interesting, or he was considered particularly handsome. It wasn’t even his face he was looking at. Those thighs though, he couldn’t stop looking. All through the match, they caught his attention and his mind had wandered. For once, he let it.

In the changing room after the match, they all started clapping each other on the back. Even with Callum distracted, and Chunky letting in two stumbling goals, it was an easy win. After the final whistle, he had stayed out on the pitch as long as possible under the pretence of stretching, before helping Ned to move the goalposts back into storage. Anything to not be in close proximity to Lewis.

When he entered the changing room, there was the slight mist of steam that filled the space, as the showers were pounding down in full flow. A couple of the guys were fully changed, their hair wet and sticking to their head, a few were still making their way out the shower, including Lewis.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t control himself; he was in the army, he had learned to hide any urges and feelings he might have. He was around men all the time, and in a strange way that helped, the overexposure to something making it easier to play off any desires he had.

It was normal, these feeling he had. They weren’t that often, most the time he didn’t have them at all. Then he did. But it was normal, he told himself, something everyone probably had. He remembered at school they had a couple of lessons of sex education. Mr Marcus, the geography teacher, had stammered through the sessions and explained it was natural for a male body to react for no apparent reason. That’s just what happened to boys when they were growing into men.

Callum knew that he was far from a pubescent boy, but a body was a body, surely? And right now, when Lewis got out the shower, his towel barely covering anything, Callum could certainly feel his body reacting.

The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself, and he squirmed his legs as he leaned forward, grabbing his phone from his bag. He scrolled through aimlessly, not even checking the words, trying to put all that tension in the taps of his fingers. “You getting changed some point today, Halfway?” Kevin asked, as he threw his clothing into a gym bag. “You’ll still be hear next Sunday at this rate.”

Callum pointed to his phone, using it as an excuse. “I’ve just got an email about work,” he explained, knowing he could lie easily about this. “So many forms you’ve got to fill in with the army, and they get the right hump if you don’t get back right away.”

Kevin nodded, he wouldn’t know any different. He wouldn’t have been able to say anything even if he suspected it was a lie. He carried his bag out the room, and soon after Chunky and Lewis made their way out too, teasing Callum about taking so long and telling him they’d see him in The Pig later.

When the door slammed shut, he made his way up and started striping off the grassy kit, roughly hurling it in a plastic bag to take home. He headed towards the showers, the wet tiles slippy and cold underneath his toes. He hit the switch and immediately the cosy threads of water slathered his skin, warming and hugging his body. The room was quiet, and with silence his mind would always wander.

It wasn’t just Lewis’ thighs that he let scroll through his mind. There were a number of memories that he detailed away, that he wouldn’t let himself think about, but returned vividly on the few occasions he did. It was normal, he kept telling himself. That’s what Mr Marcus has said. He was alone, no one else would see. It wouldn’t hurt to just let himself think for a moment. Just a couple of moments.

Callum rested one hand on the wall, as he put his hair right under the shower head, the liquid water-falling around his ears and tickling down his body. With his other hand he softly brushed his nails up and down his thigh, swallowing thickly as he began to harden even further.

This was normal, Mr Marcus had said, and everyone had these thoughts. Callum kept that in his mind as he loosely fisted his palm, stroking his hand up and down his cock. His breath escaped in sharp bursts and he twisted further, his thumb reaching out to graze the head with a groan. All those images flittered through his mind, one by one, only now instead of forcing them back and hurling them away, he paused them, examined them and lingered over them.

The movement of his hand was going faster now, and he couldn’t believe that he ever felt this was wrong as his toes curled against the shower tiles. This was normal. Mr Marcus had said so, and everyone had these thoughts. His body thumped and his fist sped up with the changing rhythm of his pulse, as his mind worshipped the images pounding though with increasing adoration. He never wanted this to end, he never wanted to not feel this way.

Image, after image, stroke after stroke, beat after beat. This was normal. His heart pounded and he could hear moans echo off the walls. Image after image, stroke after stroke, beat after beat. Mr Marcus has said so. The rhythm of his hand was ragged now as he felt a building sensation wave through his body. Image after image, stroke after stroke, beat after beat. Everyone had these thoughts.

A gasping breath of a moan exhaled through Callum’s lungs as he spent over his hand, not stopping as the pleasure peaked and then started to retreat like the tide. It was almost too much now, the feeling, the sensitivity hitting him sharply as his hand slowed, and the air in his lungs started to row at a reduced pace.

It almost clicked in Callum like a switch, and he drew his hand back quickly, the silence coming back louder in the room, with just the water berating him harshly for his act. His legs buckled before he even knew they were trembling, and his bottom hit the soggy tiles with a sting. It wasn’t until a sob escaped that he realised that not all the water on his face was from the shower, and salty tears hit his lips. He wasn’t normal.

What he did wasn’t normal. Mr Marcus was wrong. Not everyone had the same thoughts that he did. He’d let them creep in for a moment. He was weak and had let them crawl out from the part of his brain where they were curled up and festering. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand why that uncontrollable urge he just felt hadn’t happened on the bed with Judy the other night. Had he just not tried hard enough? Was he deliberately trying to push those urges away when he had been with the girl, and that’s why he hadn’t felt anything. It could have been there, he could have made her happy and made his dad proud but he just didn’t let it.

Callum lent his head back on the harsh tile and punched the wall with his fist, the bones in his hand screaming at the attack. This couldn’t happen again. Those thoughts would stay hidden.

When he entered the pub later, he was sure everyone could see it on his face, what he had done in the shower. He slid silently into the corner booth, sipping his beer with his eyes down for most of the afternoon, though he was still dragged into conversations and comments that crept embarrassment and shame to his cheeks. He kept his hand hidden in his sleeve, the bruise forming there as a harsh reminder; a penance.

It was a relief when Steve, the owner of The Pig, called over to him during that day. “Halfway, you don’t want to pick up a few shifts do you?” he had asked. Callum had worked behind the bar here and there for years when they needed an extra pair of hands. “Lisa’s mum’s ill again, so she don’t want to work so many hours.”

Callum had nodded eagerly. If he had to be in this place, then he much preferred to be behind the bar. It kept him busy, kept his mind busy and kept all the punters at a distance. Over the next week, he worked sporadically, enjoying the conversation now he could control it. He was even happy when Judy came and sat by the bar when he was working. He’d serve her a few free lemonades, and she would give a giggle when he held his finger to the lips to keep it a secret.

The day it happened, he wasn’t behind the bar. The day his life changed. The day he walked in.

Callum was sitting in the booth with his dad and Stuart, at their usual table. Working a few shifts had broken up the repetition of their actions slightly, though every day still felt like a dull blur. Until today.

There were never many strangers that walked into the bar. The Pig was well hidden, and didn’t receive much passing trade. Any new faces that did enter usually accompanied a known one; a relative, girlfriend or workmate. As a result, anyone new always caught the attention of the patrons. They would lift their beaky noses, glare with narrowed eyes at the intrusion before hissing back down and slumping back over their tables. There was still a glance. Still a guard and a wariness until the stranger could prove themselves.

They all stood out when entering, but never anyone more than this man. There was a sense of modernity about him, in scandalous blank and scarlet red, saturating and smothering all the mellow beige in the surroundings. When all the others hunched back down in their tables, and back to their drinks, Callum still looked. He couldn’t stop looking.

There was a book that Callum read in school, ‘A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court’. It had caught his attention, though he never admitted to it at the time, laughing along when some of the guys called out and made noises when the teacher had started reading it. He just wanted to listen though, to the story about a man who was so different to everyone around him.

That’s how he felt about the stranger now. A man out of time. There was a confidence that he swaggered in with, and just for that he stood out, maybe not to everyone but certainly to Callum. It was like the little swings and sways of his body were imprinted in his mind, the natural rhythms seeming moreish to his eyes.

The leather jacket pulled tight against his body seemed like a mild rebellion; a statement that called and begged to be noticed. Callum accepted the request, looking not seeming enough, but wanting to reach out and run his fingers along the material, feeling the smoothness under his fingertips. The man leaned on the bar muttering something to Ellie, who was serving that day. A hint of envy hit Callum’s jaw, wishing it was his ear that words were being whispered to. She nodded after a moment and went out the door into the back.

As the man waited, he started to slide his eyes around the bar, and Callum watched the movement, every new angle bringing another moment of interest. He was mesmerising, and when his eyes finally met Callum’s he held the gaze for just a second. It was too much though, too blinding and Callum had to turn his head down, running his finger along the condensation of his pint glass.

Maybe he imagined it, but Callum could still feel the man’s eyes on him, scorching and prying. It was probably just his imagination though, and wishful thinking on his part. Thinking that he could be interesting enough for this man to pay attention to, more than anyone else in the bar. He knew his cheeks were rouging, so he picked up his beer and chugged a few mouthfuls back, hoping that the cooling liquid would settle them. He had to stop this.

“You seeing that bird again, Callum?” his dad asked, but as he lifted his head, all Callum could focus on was the stranger talking to Steve the landlord. His eyes travelled up and down the back of his body. “Oi! What’s got you in a daydream? I said, are you seeing that sort again?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, turning his eyes away from the bar. He didn’t want his dad to see what he was looking at. “Maybe.”

“Why not?” Jonno asked with a frown. “I’ve seen her on that barstool when you’ve been serving, waiting for you to take her out back and give her a good barrel roll! You’ve got to keep up with the promise of the Highway name, boy! We’re known for our stamina; you should be making it so she can’t pull herself up onto that stool for a week!”

“Callum’s probably just trying to be romantic, ain’t you Bruv?” Stuart offered. “Wine and dine her a bit so she don’t lose interest.”

Not being able to bear it any longer, Callum had to sneak a look back at the bar. His heart sunk when he noticed the man was gone.

“Here, Steve, who was that fella?” Stuart called out to the landlord a few minutes later, when he was clearing the table next to them.

“He’s a mechanic from Walford,” Steve started to explain, and Callum’s ears pricked, wanting every little bit of information he could get. “My car broke down that way, didn’t it? Got the name of his garage from a mate who said they were reliable.”

“Door to door service was it?” his brother asked, and Callum wasn’t sure why Stuart was suddenly so interested.

“Well, we got chatting as he was giving the motor the once over,” the landlord continued. “I’m doing a little off the books business with him. He’s a Mitchell; you heard of them?”

Both Jonno and Stuart shook their heads, and Callum grew curious at what the name could mean.

“They’re a bit of a notorious family around those parts. He’s the son.” Steve walked a little closer, leaning in and lowering his voice. “I did hear a rumour that he’s woofter, but he don’t seem like it to me. Probably one of those rumours started by a rival family.”

Jonno scoffed at even the suggestion, shaking his head as he sipped his pint. “You doing business with a daffodil, Steve? Things going that badly?”

“Look, I’m sure its just a rumour, but to be honest I don’t care who he rogers as long as he keeps it out of my pub and keeps throwing business my way.”

With that, the landlord went back behind the bar, and Jonno and Stuart went back to arguing over a penalty decision from a match they watched the night before.

Callum was left alone with his thoughts. The ones he was trying hide away. The ones about the man out of time. He’d only seen him for a moment, but the image had burned into his brain more than any other had before it. There was something different about this spark, about this feeling that was jumping through this body. He didn’t know what it was but he wanted it gone.

Until one day he wouldn’t. One day he would come to crave that spark and bathe in the flames it would combust into. One day that spark would build and build until the fire overtook and overwhelmed.

That day would start tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really, really, really, REALLY promise there will be much more Ben in the next chapter. I just felt it important to see Callum and his life without him first.


	3. The Room

Callum has been called many names in his life. It never really bothered him, the range of monikers slammed and bellowed at him for attention.

When he was at school, the teachers always called him a daydreamer. It was easier though, to hide in your own head and go anywhere you wanted. The real world felt too unpredictable, too out of his control. It was harsh and biting, the capricious moods hurtling from nowhere to ruin a day. In his mind he had control, he could go anywhere he wanted to or be anything he wanted to be.

He could imagine how situations were going to go; how he would be brave, smart, articulate, and everyone would clap him on the back and tell him how valuable he was. The reality was bleak, sepia dullness and repetitiveness creeping in as the words never came out the way he wanted them to when they escaped his lips, stuttering and stammering. His thoughts so clear in his mind, ended up coming out rough and hectic.

Then, afterwards, Callum played everything out again, rewinding back the moment and rescuing himself. It would erase the bubble of embarrassment for a moment, pretending the situation had never happened. Some of the time he almost convinced himself that it didn’t, until a taunt would come and attack and he would come crashing down to earth.

There were other names when he was at school as well. No one was affluent, but he used to turn up with the heel half hanging off his trainers and a hole in his jumper most days. That fact some of the other children were in a similar situation, used to make them pick on him more, take away the attention from what they didn’t have. Most of the time, Callum just tried to blend in with the scenery, not making any noise or really doing anything at all. He hid in the outskirts, hid in plain sight, involved with enough of a group not to stand out as a solitary loner who would be ostracised and highlighted, but never speaking up enough to be made a focus.

There were names at home of course, from his father; most he never fully understood until he was older. All of them used to detract from his maleness, what his dad believed a man should be. He felt like a rat in a science experiment. Every time he did something that didn’t fit in with his dad’s ideal, another word would be scurried out. It made him quickly learn what was acceptable to say in front of his father.

From a young age, he knew what toys to hide away, what friends to brings home, what comments to agree with and what thoughts he should express. Everything else he kept away; it was still all there, but he would never reveal it to his dad. The colouring books and a soft bear he kept hidden under his bed. The boy from Italy who joined his class when he was seven, who loved to bake with his dad and brought Callum in cupcakes. That wasn’t someone he could ever bring home. When his dad made his uncouth remarks about someone’s clothes, their demeanour, their actions, Callum didn’t dare correct him. He told himself it wasn’t lying, not really.

‘Halfway’ though, that came from the daydreaming too. The fact that he wasn’t all there. There was a truth in that, one that Callum didn’t like. He thought perhaps he’d feel much better if he had something more generic, if he had a last name that couldn’t be changed to something that was so hurtful. Smithy, Jonesy or Wrighty. That desire came from him wanting to hide, to being neither here, nor there. So maybe his nickname suited him after all.

Names didn’t matter anyway. His mum chose his, picked it from millions to be meaningful and special and build that connection. Then she left. Names meant nothing. Being a Highway meant nothing. But it was everything; a blueprint of what he had to be.

Callum’s hands played with the frayed edge of the cloth sitting on the bar. It unravelled slowly and he had to resist the urge to pull and pull until he was just left with a pile of thread. The pub was practically empty, just a couple of old boys wafting away the listless hours over a pint and a game of cards.

It was just him in that afternoon, Steve taking off and leaving him in charge. Not that it meant a lot. Nothing ever happened, nothing ever changed, especially on afternoons like this. The second hand on the clock seemed to tick backwards, and the sunbeam that entered through the musty window never seemed to change position, just gleaming on to the same dusty air for hours at a time.

There was a clatter that he instantly recognised as the door opening, and Callum stood up a little straighter, ready to serve the customer that entered. With a click of short heels, Judy walked in, chatting happily to her friend that accompanied her. They both approached the bar, Judy sending a large smile his way.

“You alright, Jude?” he said with a grin, as she precariously perched on a stool, her friend mimicking the movement next to her. “You not at the Co-op today?”

She placed her small, green purse on the counter, looking up to Callum like he’d just asked the most important question in the world. “Nah, Connie’s taken the morning shifts all week,” she explained, getting a fiver out of her purse. “I’m stuck on evenings for the next fortnight.”

There was a happiness in Callum’s heart when he heard that, one that automatically crisped and soured at his selfishness. If Judy was working at the shop at nights, that would give him an excuse not to see her. It would be something he could tell his dad and Stuart to explain why he wasn’t bringing her home, it would mean the men in the bar wouldn’t question why he was leaving alone and it would mean that he wouldn’t yet have to fulfil his promise to Judy that they’d try again after the disaster last time.

“That’s rubbish,” he consoled, trying to hide his delight. He succeeded of course. He knew what mask to hold up. “Vodka and cranberry, ladies?”

They nodded their confirmation and Callum went on making their drinks, the weight on his shoulders feeling a little lighter. It was one less thing he would have clawed to his shoulders, one less weight that gripped on tight and tried to pull him down, one less burden that would scurry into his brain at night and keep gnawing, rendering sleep into an impossibility.

As he was handing them their change, and holding his shoulders a little higher, the door swung open again. There was a moment where Callum thought his mind was playing with him, where he thought his brain had noticed an iota of peace and wanted to instil an image that would send it back reeling.

In walked Ben Mitchell.

Callum had remembered that name from his last visit, had seared it on his mind, when he curled into the corner and observed the stranger from a safe distance. It had still felt unsafe then, like going to a zoo and going close to the tiger’s pen. There were bars between you, nothing could happen, but your instinct was telling you this wasn’t a creature that was safe to be near.

Now those metal bars had disintegrated, and the tiger was prowling towards him. There was nowhere to safely go. There was nowhere to hide.

It was as if time suddenly shuffled forward with a jolt, breaking Callum out of his shock when the man approached directly in front of him, just the brittle wooden surface creating a barrier between them. Callum remained still, caught in time. “Ben Mitchell,” the man announced, holding his hand out across the bar.

It was disconcerting to be noticed. Callum was used to chatting to customers, making small talk and exchanging the friendly stories they would expect from a barman. No one ever walked in and introduced themselves to him, and that’s the way he liked it. He just faded into the background, part of the décor of the bar that no one looked at; that no one noticed.

Ben’s eyes were running up and down Callum in those brief two seconds that felt like a lifetime; that felt like it was being replayed over and over on a continuous loop. There was no clue to what Ben was thinking, what he had picked up on, what he had assumed about Callum. There was no judgement yet in his eyes.

Callum quickly took the man’s hand and gave a short shake before releasing immediately. It was already too much, he felt it already gave too much of his thoughts away and he was terrified that every little moment and desire he kept buried away in his head, was now written on his face. He didn’t want this man to know anything about him. He didn’t want Ben to see him without the masks, so Callum held them all up. He couldn’t let him see.

“What can I get you?” he asked, when he drew his hand back. This was safe, putting on the cloak of a barman, someone with no background of their own, just an accessory in the pub who was there to celebrate and commiserate with the regulars. He tried to ignore Ben’s eyes, attempting not to even look at him at all, but he couldn’t. They were curious and he didn’t know why.

“Whiskey chaser and a bag of salt and vinegar,” Ben said, still looking as if he was trying to make a decision, like a cheetah trying to choose the best moment to run after its prey. As Callum started to prepare his order, Ben let his eyes slip to the side, giving Judy and her friend a quick nod and smile as a greeting. It was as if the air thinned out when Ben turned his gaze away.

It was too much for Callum when Ben continued to watch him; he could feel his every breath, every action and moment being looked at and thought about. His fingers fumbled on a glass, as he felt it slip, the intention to catch it just coming a little too slowly. It seemed to stay in the air forever, twisting and turning and begging to be saved, before hitting the floor and shattering. Something that was whole one second and broken the next.

There was instant embarrassment that hit him, when he made the error in front of the audience, and he looked down as he walked to the other side of the bar to get the broom, his hands seeming to move on their own accord sporadically and defiantly, unsure whether to bend down and pick up the fragments or reach for the brush. It must have looked awkward, it must have made him look dithering and idiotic, and that thought just added to the shame. It wasn’t a new assumption made about him; it was a mask that he had held up for a long, long time.

“First day, mate?” Ben asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You keep going like that, it might be your last.”

“He’s a soldier actually,” Callum heard a light voice say firmly, as he started to sweep the glass away, happy to have something firm in his hands so the tremble wasn’t noticed. He gave Judy a nod in thanks. He didn’t quite know why she was defending him so strongly, but it could have to do with this hourglass of sand hanging over them; his promise to her and the expiration date on it. “He goes to work in a war zone!”

Ben’s eyes seemed to dart around the bar suspiciously. “Canning Town’s a shit hole, but it ain’t exactly the trenches, is it?”

“Helmand,” Judy spat out, glaring in Ben’s direction. Callum felt his blood start to thicken at the name. He didn’t want to talk about it. That was one of the only good things about being back. He could try to forget and people let him.

“Afghanistan’s a hell of a commute, mate,” Ben retorted, a gleam in his eye, as Callum swept the last of the glass into a pile. “I thought the number nine bus only went as far as New Cross. You really in the army?”

Callum could only nod, placing the broom back to where it leaned against the back of the bar. “I’m on leave at the moment.”

“Any you choose to spend that time pouring pints in God’s waiting room do you?” Ben replied critically. “I thought soldiers went a bit mad when they were back home, sowing their seeds all over town, and all that.”

“Not all men are like you and just interested in copping off with every woman they see?” Judy replied. It irked Callum in a way, that she was answering for him, that she assumed to know him. Though in another sense he was glad to have the mediator.

Ben laughed at her comment, opening his eyes wide and nodding his head. “Yeah, that’s me. Can’t wait to get my claws into a bit.”

Callum thought there was a tone of sarcasm there, but when Judy took it seriously, he thought he must have been mistaken. “Some men are sensitive,” she said, sipping her drink through her straw. “He cares about the women he’s with.”

Ben looked back at him then, as if using Judy’s comments to readjust his assessment. “Alright then Romeo, you better shove those crisps back. I’m getting enough salt from the peanut gallery here as it is.”

Another nickname thrown his way, and there was just something that sparked in Callum. He didn’t want one this time. Not from him. A name could be important, and he wanted Ben to know his. “Callum,” he said, as the other man cocked his head. “My name’s Callum.”

He held his hand out to shake, he wasn’t sure why, and there must have been a flicker of confusion at the action from Ben, as he hesitated for just a second before taking it. He held on, the warmness of his palm contrasting with his uncertain coolness of his eyes. It was like Ben was saying two different things, one truth and one lie, and Callum wasn’t sure which was which. He didn’t know what to believe.

It felt like he held on too long, perhaps he did, but there was no register of it in Ben’s face.

When Callum lost the contact, his palm felt vacant and empty. Ben’s touch was addictive, but he couldn’t go back for a third time. Once had been moreish, two had been craving and three would just be sinful. The temptation lingering between them. It was palpable. He didn’t want to think too much about that.

“I’ll get your beer,” he managed to say, and it was the most articulate he was able to be at that moment.

As Callum clinked the lid off, his thumb made an imprint in the condensation on the neck of the bottle. Marking and stamping as if he was making a claim.

He shuffled the bottle to the bar and Ben took it, pulling it to his lips and lingering them around the top of the glass container, his bottom one just reaching the thumbprint. Just ghosting Callum’s touch.

Callum couldn’t help but look at Ben’s neck as he swallowed; his Adam’s apple jutting out, the muscles constricting to swallow down the cold liquid eagerly. The tense squeeze and the relax that followed as the movement was repeated rhythmically.

The door slamming shut brought him out of his reverence, almost causing him to knock another glass off the shelf. “Ben, sorry I’m late, mate,” Steve said, marching into his pub with a file under his arm. “You ain’t been waiting long have you?”

As Ben went to join his boss, Callum felt he could finally breath. It seemed like he had been holding his breath for the last five minutes and it could finally be set free from his lungs. It took advantage of the freedom though, and started gasping out quickly and not wanting to enter back in. Without thinking too much, he made his way to the bar door as inconspicuously as he could.

Once out on the landing, he clambered up the staircase into the darkness. All he wanted to do was go into the room at the top, the one that he could hide in and not be found, open a window and let all his breath back in.

There wasn’t time now though. The bar was left unattended and his absence couldn’t be excused. Once he reached the top, he dropped to the floor and merely held on to the cold, golden handle of the door, an anchor to this world, using it to ground him and stabilise his breath.

It took a few moments, but finally his body seemed to relax, and the air seemed to realise that it could enter and exit freely through his body without being stopped. Callim yanked himself up from the floor and opened up the small cupboard nearby, pulling out a dustpan and brush.

He slowly made his way down the stairs, breathing solidly and regularly through his nose as he went, so no one would notice anything was wrong when he got back into the room.

When he pushed open the bar door, he could sense a few pairs of eyes on him, but he didn’t focus on any of them, just waved the dustpan and brush in the air to explain his absence, before making his way round to behind the bar. He noticed Judy and her friend had moved over to a side table, and for that he was thankful, preferring to be alone when he crouched down and started to sweep the broken shards into the dustpan with a crunch.

Once he had discarded the fragments into the bin, there was nothing else for him to do and he wished he’d spent some more time upstairs. All he could do was let his eyes and mind wander over to where Ben was sitting with his boss.

They were hunched over the table, hands clasped together, the whispers quiet and intense, almost intimate, the same stance as young lovers leaning over a table in a small café on the banks of the Seine.

That was something Callum did sometimes, put himself into the experiences that other people used to have, but he for some reason missed out on. Every time he scrolled through social media, he imagined it was him in their place, with their plastered smiles on days out and kisses shared on exotic holidays. He was a daydreamer after all. It wasn’t real though. The images he scrolled through in his mind had too much colour, too much vibrancy to be his life.

As he looked over to Ben and Steve, a hint of jealousy hit him, but he didn’t know why. They weren’t in some leafy country estate or by the canals of Venice. They were stuck in the same grotty and grimy pub that he was. There was no need for him to feel this whisper of envy, there was no reason for him to want to tear over there and pull them apart. They were in the same nicotine stained reality, with bile yellows and muddy browns seeming to create a dirty film over everything, not just the filthy windows. The only difference was they were sitting together, and Callum was standing alone.

He was a daydreamer. That’s what they called him. Over the years, his imagination used to just press even further, but it wasn’t real. It was just thoughts in his head. They didn’t mean anything.

Callum smiled over to Judy. He didn’t know if it reached his eyes but it’s what he felt he should do. His dreams were filled with selfish desire. His truth was spent trying to fulfil other people’s whims. This was his reality in front of him; a nice girl, who he would be expected to go out with, leading to marriage, stuck in a tiny flat in Canning Town for the rest of his life. It just didn’t seem right, though it was what he had always planned. It was like a photo someone had doctored to make it seem like the truth and he just wanted to scratch off the layers to see underneath.

The door clattered open again, and Dogger, Chunky and Alan stumbled in, swaggering with their chests puffed out for emphasis of their arrival. They had to be seen to be noticed. They needed the room to know.

Dogger slapped his hand on the bar; a crackling, sputum of a cough escaping his crusty, sored, bloated lips, the action splattering the surface with spittle. His fattened sausage fingers squeaked across the surface as they left a sweaty, clammy film behind them. “Three pints of the usual, Halfway,” he bellowed huskily, the whiff of his breath circulating the stench of rotten decay and pus-filled tongue sores. “Where’s my usual buxom beauty? I ain’t going to get my usual flash of lunch time cleavage from you, am I?”

He let out a roaring laugh, a hacking, static sound that polluted the air around it. “Here, Judy,” Chunky’s squeak of a rat tone piped up, a confident smile already appearing as he looked around ready to impress his audience. “Pull your top down a bit, we’re missing out on our usual show of some decent jugs here!”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s any lack of tits on display,” she scowled in their direction, tapping her glass with a straw. “Get Dogger to pull his shirt down if you’re that desperate. He’s got bigger boobs than we have. Probably turn you on a bit more too.”

“You’d know all about what gets us going, wouldn’t you darlin’?” Alan said, leaning on the bar. “You know what hits the right spot.”

“Scratchings?” Callum asked, waving a bag of the savoury snack, trying to get the conversation away from Judy. She was able to stand up for herself, that much he was more than certain, but there was a sadness in her eyes. She shouldn’t have to.

“You talking to me or her, Halfway?” Alan’s voice creeped out, sly and biting, and deliberately turning the conversation and focus of mocking onto him. “Is that what she got you going with?”

Callum ignored the comment and continued to pour the pints. He should have spoken out and defended Judy. He wasn’t brave like her though. He couldn’t say anything in case they saw through it. This mask he held. In case they ever learnt who he really was under the layers of names and disguises.

Callum could feel it. His gaze on him. It sounded trite and imagined, but he could. He turned his eyes up when placing the pint on the bar, and saw Ben’s eyes dart to him while he was still chatting to Steve. There was a fierceness to his face, a fight and a fury. There was a critique as well, running along the line of men. He looked at Callum with the same disdain. He was placing him in the same category. Ben thought Callum was one of them.

For all the times Callum wanted to fit in, for all the times he wished he was like them, he tormented himself for all those years, but now he’d never wanted to distance himself so much. He wanted to scream across the bar, defend himself and explain how he wasn’t one of them. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. And that made him furious.

It made him frustrated with this man that had walked into this world and assumed that Callum was part of it. It got to him, and he didn’t know why; this stranger from another time dismissing him. Perhaps because Callum had always felt different. Perhaps he felt that he was better than all of them, but when someone held a mirror up, maybe he’d only see one of them looking back at him instead. The thought terrified him.

“What’s the matter Halfway? You getting a stiffy from thinking about Judy’s tits or my dad’s?” Alan hollered out, interrupting his thoughts, not even looking at Callum but at his captive audience. Last week they had both sat down for half an hour, chatting about their time at school. It had been nice. He had been nothing like this. Alan was nothing like this when there was no one else around.

Callum didn’t look back at Ben, didn’t want to see him shaming himself by trying so hard to fit into the herd. It must look strange to him, but he wouldn’t understand what it was like around here. What it was like to live every day trying to fit yourself into someone else’s image. Every day trying to be someone you’re not.

He only let himself look when Steve started to stand up, leaving the table to head towards the bar. “You alright, fellas? You knocking off early today?” he asked, leaning an elbow on the bar. They all worked for Dogger’s business, which in its official capacity was a plasterers, but there was a lot of jobs done off the books. A lot of cash that ended up in back pockets that the tax man would never know about. “This is Ben Mitchell, he’s from Walford way. Done a good little deal with him so I think drinks all round!”

Ben approached the bar with a set smile. He wasn’t unconfident in his approach, it wasn’t like how Callum felt when he walked into this room, among these men. He always felt like the last chicken in the coop, hiding and protecting the eggs when a snarly shadow appeared outside, and the rusty brush of a vixen’s tail flittered by the opening. He felt that he couldn’t say anything, not even make a sound or he would be noticed, find himself with sharp fangs around his jugular as blood rushed out.

That’s not what Ben looked like though. There was almost an arrogance, a brash confidence in his eyes, a bite to the clench of his teeth that would appear in his words. There was a sharpness in his smile, like he knew something no one else did and he was going to weave that knowledge into a rope and hang them all with it. The ice in his eyes was glacial, covering that life that lived underneath. Callum couldn’t see it yet, what beckoned beneath this man’s mask, but he knew there was something. He didn’t belong here and he knew it.

This wasn’t someone tiptoeing about though, hoping no one would notice. He was like a wolf, dressed head to toe in sheep’s fleece, prowling among the ewe’s and relishing in his difference, in the disguise he had managed to construct. He would bleet like the rest of them, chew the cud and huddle for safety; even if they suspected something, they would never guess.

“There’s a Phil Mitchell over in Walford, ain’t there?” Dogger hacked out, every syllable gassy and crunchy with flem. “Sure I heard that name before. You part of that lot?”

There was a flicker in Ben’s eye, just a moment, or perhaps it was part of Callum’s imagination. It could be he was hoping to see a crack in the armour, hoping that these men would see a difference or an oddity so Callum didn’t feel so alone in his bubble. There was a spark though, a rebellion and a silent shout that just passed in a whisper of time. Then it was gone.

“Yeah, that’s my dad,” Ben confirmed, leaning against the bar. His arm was just a few inches away from where Callum was resting his elbow, settling his chin in his hands. It felt so close, too close almost, like a character in a story book you were reading had suddenly clambered out the pages and sat in front of you. It broke the invisible curtain the reader was peeking through, able to be a voyeur from a distance and spy on private moments of hope and despair. Now you had to face that character, sitting in front of you, looking back, watching your life and ready to offer critique. “He’s in semi-retirement though; I run most of the business now.”

“He’s got a reputation. Anyone who’s anyone knows the Mitchell’s mean business,” Steve confessed.

There was that flash in Ben’s face again. He could see it closer now. That name meant something around the area, but it meant more to Ben. An albatross around his neck or a throne of gold to perch on, Callum wasn’t sure yet. But it meant something. A name could be powerful, it could be encouraging, it could be supportive and energising. It could also be a mask to hide behind, or one attached to your head with iron locks.

Callum’s eyes were mostly turned towards some leaflet left on the bar, but it was just a jumble of letters to his down turned head. All his concentration was on the man next to him, his eyes darting up to the side every few seconds to snapshot him, to examine the features in his mind when his glance headed back to the paper below. The mixtures of textures on Ben’s face seemed to stand out; he could almost feel them on the pads of his fingers. The scratchiness of his light stubble prickling out from his jaw, the bristle luring and enticing to touch. He had pale cheeks, light and soft, gentle in their blush and smooth in their grain. Speckled through them, like rebellious invaders, were light freckles; youthful in their charm and mischievous in their intent.

The next time Callum flashed his gaze, he focused on Ben’s eyes, which were suddenly and unexpectedly pointed towards him. Callum looked back down before he even finished looking up, but the damage was done as his chest felt that it had been stabbed with a dagger made of ice; splintering and shattering through his heart as the shrapnel rushed through every vein and artery, spiking every inch of his body with a cold burn.

It was overwhelming to be caught looking and to have someone look back. Those blue eyes had pierced briefly, but deeply, and seemed to hold another world in them, like opening the door to Narnia and gazing at the vast wintery lands before closing it abruptly when it was just too much to handle. There were questions in those eyes, asked just of Callum, and the attention was too much. It was too intrusive, and he just wanted to run away from it. Stride far, far from the inquisition despite the suicidal temptation to stop and look right back.

Callum knew if any of them were looking closely, they would see his cheeks pink, though he felt a burn of fire cascading all through him. It was something he hated, this little clue into his emotions that was always misconstrued, was always used to judge what they believed he was thinking.

The conversation was still revolved around Ben though, as Callum stood on the outskirts. “Got a few enemies about too, mate,” Dogger barked out with a pitying growl and gasp of his constricted lungs. “Your family must have pissed off a few of the local crims ‘cause there was a rumour going round that Phil Mitchell’s son was a bumboy.”

Callum couldn’t help but look this time, needing to see the reaction and the outcome. Ben simply smirked back at Dogger, wry and knowing. “That ain’t true is it?” Alan asked, and Callum could see a slight wrinkle in his forehead, a slight kink in his armour when he posed the question. “You ain’t into rogering fellas are you?”

Ben downed his drink, slamming the glass on the bar in a way that made Callum’s skin jump, before quickly licking a drop of stray amber liquid off his lip. “No,” he replied, leaning up off the bar, straightening up his jacket. “Variety’s the spice of life. Why only give when you can receive, eh? See ya later, fellas.”

With that, he turned and gave a wink to Callum; a secret and a whisper. A nudge and a confession that Callum didn’t want to hear, and refused to let it linger in his mind. Ben strolled out with the same confidence he had walked in with, as the other men roared with laughter. They thought he was joking.

Maybe he was, or maybe he wasn’t, but Callum knew a few things for certain. He knew that Ben may have prowled in covered in a sheep’s skin, but he’d now shown his snout. He’s bared his fangs and let the ewes see a little of what he was, to give them a clue and a question. He hadn’t yet ripped off the disguise, not yet, but he had made them suspicious.

That was the first thing he knew; that Ben had made them doubt, but they still hadn’t backed away. This man from another time, this enigmatic stranger, this interloper into their world had been allowed to bare his teeth and reveal part of his real identity without fear or retribution. That one act, that defiant action had led to the second thing that Callum knew. The one he was sure of down to his bones.

Callum Highway hated Ben Mitchell.


	4. The Party

No matter how hard he tried, Callum couldn’t sleep. His eyes were irritatingly itchy, his head heavy as if filled with brick, and all the muscles in his body were tense, like they were holding in a breath.

He had tried putting some music on for a little while, keeping the volume low so not to disturb his dad. That usually worked for him; the sweet notes and melancholy strings placating his mind long enough to drift off.

It hadn’t worked though. Not this time. The melodic sounds just clanging through his head like a jolt of caffeine. Callum’s stomach had started to growl, and he had padded into the kitchen, pulling some left over chicken out and making a sandwich. Scoffing it down in minutes, he went back to bed, the pain in his tummy dulled but not gone. It hadn’t been caused by hunger.

Finally, Callum switched on the tv, letting some old quiz show shine out its neon set and bright lights into his darkened room. His bed wasn’t the most comfortable in the world, but it usually served its purpose. Everyone always told Callum that he was one of those people who could fall asleep anywhere. Now though, the scratchy sheet seemed to be twisted at every point and the duvet crumpled heavily on him. He got up and tried to straighten everything out, but it was no use. Callum knew the reason why he was getting no sleep, and it had icy blue eyes.

Callum didn’t know if he had ever hated anyone before. It seemed like such a powerful word, such an overwhelming feeling. Now in the dead of night, with only the whispered air, he could admit that it was exaggerated.

In truth, he wasn’t sure what he felt; he just knew this fire burned through him every time he thought of Ben’s face, of his bitter teasing and his harsh glances. Perhaps there was a part of Callum that hoped the man would be better than the other people of this town. That whim was removed when he had made Callum feel like everyone else did. It had been foolish and childish to start putting Ben on a pedestal. These daydreams he had could be freeing, but they could also stifle. Ben was just a man who came to do some business with Steve and had no interest in Callum. Why would he?

Ben had held court in the pub so easily, stood in the middle of those other men and commanded their respect and attention. Why couldn’t Callum do that?

The brightness from the television seemed to fade away, as his mind let himself retrieve the snapshots of Ben that he’d taken when looking at him that afternoon. He had time now, in his head to really focus, to really concentrate on all those little details he’d memorised and stocked away. He let himself gaze in his mind at every movement and gesture.

Callum remembered how close he was, the arm of his leather jacket inches away from his own. The temptation to reach out and touch, to smooth his hand up and down the material, feeling the friction when he stopped to deliver short sharp rubs to the cuff at the wrist.

The urge manifested itself tangibly, and Callum reached under his boxers and stroked his hardened length, the pace and force mimicking the touch of his hand along Ben’s arm in his mind. He got a little faster, as he squeezed Ben’s bicep gently, the firm muscle there bulging and contracting with his solid grip.

Then he saw his eyes; those polar, biting orbs that pierced through his body and ricocheted around every nerve ending. The involuntary moan that escaped Callum’s mouth as he jerked his hand faster was loud, drowning out the canned laughter emitted by the audience on the tv. Then he heard a distant bang, and it immediately pulled away all the pictures in his mind, vanishing them in a puff of smoke as they were buried back in his head.

Sitting up quickly, Callum fumbled for the remote and turned the television down, his ears pricking as he tried to listen out for any sound in the flat. The only noise that reached out was the pounding of his heart that thundered into his ears, and his shaky breath still trying to claw back the memory.

It was all silent. There was no one moving about the flat, and the state his dad had been in earlier, he wouldn’t be moving until morning. Callum settled back down, very aware of the frustrated state his body was now in, but without those hidden, secret images he knew it would have to stay that way.

He tried to picture Judy in his head, an image that was acceptable to have; one that he was supposed to have when he did this. Callum put his hand back under his waistband and gave a few short strokes. It just felt dry and hollow though, his length now starting to get flaccid at the thought of the young woman.

Turning back over, he just let his mind try and be lolled by the bright images on the screen. They were safe, but not what he wanted. He wouldn’t let himself have the ones he wanted. He couldn’t.

He must have fallen asleep eventually, as the next thought he had was when the sun gleamed in through a gap in his curtains. Callum’s eyes felt like they had weights attached, and he groaned as he struggled to sit up, pulling the duvet off him. Looking down, he noticed the dried stickiness on his boxers, and he sighed to himself. Though he was struggling with his conscious thoughts, he knew he had no control over his unconscious ones as his dreams tried to goad him into action.

After having a shower and changing, Callum went into the lounge. It was late morning and he’d need to leave soon for his shift at The Pig. His dad was already sitting on the sofa, swiping through the channels on the tv, with a look of disdain. “He’s got out of his pit then!” Jonno said, taking a sideways glance at his son. “No excuse to stay in bed till lunch unless you’ve got a bird in there bouncing up and down on your willy!”

Callum avoided reminding his father of all the times he had spent the whole day passed out unconscious in the remnants of his own sick. It wouldn’t do any good, just end up riling the hungover man, and Callum really couldn’t deal with all his dad’s putdowns this morning. “I just had a late shift at the pub,” he explained, going into the kitchen and putting some bread in the toaster. “Needed to catch up on some sleep.”

“Young man like you should be able to go for days without needing a kip! There’s a letter for you on the table,” Jonno said, nodding his head towards the object. “Love letter from that girl with the hefty knockers, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Callum replied. “Maybe.”

Just by looking at the handwriting on the envelope though, he knew exactly who the letter was from and it set his pulse beating hard. He couldn’t leave this on the table, or even in his room, so he folded it carefully and placed it in the pocket of his jacket. He didn’t want to open it. Not right now.

Giving his dad a brief and unreciprocated goodbye, he grabbed his buttered toast to eat on the way, hoping today would be a better day.

The pub was quiet again, just a few of the regulars lounging over their drinks. They’d turned the television on, watching the afternoon racing happily in their grimy and sedate corner. There was that feeling again, that went through Callum’s body; the one that must be imagined. As he turned to look towards the door, it was no surprise to him that Ben walked through it.

He almost looked a little different than those pictures in Callum’s head. There weren’t the same vibrant colours and sharp jagged lines of detail. His face felt softer, as if painted by watercolour, and his stride wasn’t so step sure as he approached the bar.

Callum remembered how he made him feel yesterday, though it was hard to stroke any aggression when the man in front of him seemed more docile, when his freckles seemed more impish and his eyes like ice melting under the sun. Still, he knew he had to be strong. He knew this was one rabbit hole he couldn’t even try to crawl down.

“Alright, soldier,” he said, his tone soft and lyrical, as if it was trying to lull Callum into its song.

He almost got drawn into it, it would have been so easy, the smile trying to pour its way into his lips. He had to be strong though. This couldn’t go on. He’d already let this man into his head more than he should have. “Steve ain’t here,” he answered curtly.

“I know that, I’ve just come to drop off a package for him,” he replied, waving a brown envelope in the air briefly, before sliding it across the bar towards Callum.

“Ok,” he replied, as he picked up the item, giving it a curious squeeze and placing it on the shelf below. He wanted to ask why Ben had brought it now when he knew his boss wouldn’t be in, but he didn’t let it slip from his renegade lips. He wouldn’t let him in.

“You not going to offer me a drink?” Ben asked, his hands in the pockets as if he was expecting something different, as if he was expecting more. Callum couldn’t bring himself to look into his eyes, not properly, incase it revealed that truth.

Instead he continued to wipe and dry some glasses with a cloth, focusing his gaze on the task. “It’s a pub, Ben,” he snapped back a little. “It’s usual that the punter gives an order rather than me just chucking a drink at them.”

Ben smirked, the action reaching the creases by his eyes like something had genuinely amused him. He pulled out the stool in front of him and heaved himself up, leaning his arms on the bar. Callum’s demeanour hadn’t put him off and got him to leave like he hoped it would. If anything, it seemed to be bringing him in closer.

“Whiskey chaser and a bag of salt and vinegar,” he said, a little more of that confidence Callum recognised back in his voice, as if something had given him a purpose now. “How long till you go back to the army?”

“Just under a month,” Callum replied, casually tossing the bag of crisps under Ben’s nose, still refusing to look at him properly or let his gaze linger.

Ben reached for the crisps, squeezing the bag until they opened with a pop. “Do you like it? Being a soldier?” he asked curiously, as Callum poured out his whiskey, sliding the glass to him with a little more force than was necessary. The glass hit Ben’s arm with a wobble and he grinned.

“Yep,” Callum replied, heading towards the fridge and getting a beer out. He clicked the lid off with a rattle, and headed back to the bar intending to slam it down.

Instead though, a hand reached out and grabbed the bottle just under Callum’s fingers, holding it steady in mid-air. “You’re a right little chatterbox today, aren’t you?” he said, carefully lowering the beer down to the surface.

Now Callum finally met his eyes, and he was surprised with what he saw. They weren’t judging, or critical. Just interested. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired,” he replied, finally letting go of the bottle. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

A blaze fumed though him, as the recollection of one of the methods he used to help get him to sleep crossed his mind. The guilt and embarrassment hit him hard as he felt that Ben could read his mind and know what he had been doing, and who he was thinking about while doing it.

It didn’t help now that Ben was cocking his head to the side and looking at him, a genuine concern crossing his features that made him look boyish and calm. It was just more images to be hidden away in Callum’s mind, and he was afraid that at some point they would come crashing out. He just wanted him out his head. It would be so much easier. Callum had never had this much of a problem before. He had always been able to control it.

“You can talk about it if you want,” Ben said, picking the label off his bottle, glancing down at the bar. It helped a little when he wasn’t looking; just a bit, but the air between them still felt heavy, like it needed to be moved out the way. That was a line Callum couldn’t cross.

The gesture was sweet though, and in hindsight Callum realised that no one else in his life would have made that offer. At this time though, he was so consumed over what he needed to hide from Ben, he didn’t even think about those things that he wanted to let him see. “It’s fine, honest. I’ll get an early night tonight,” he said, and he let himself smile now, he let that feeling travel to his lips.

Ben nodded, and Callum thought he saw a hint of disappointment on his face. He quickly dismissed it, like he did so many other things that he didn’t want to fit. “What’s this?” Ben asked, holding up a poster that was left on the bar.

“It’s Alan’s birthday on Saturday, so some of the fellas are throwing a bash for the regulars,” he mentioned. He would be working that night, and it wasn’t an event he was looking forward to attending.

“The party never stops around here, does it?” Ben said with a smile, as he nodded to the two old boys in the corner dozing off in front of the races. He slid off his stool, and took a final sip of his beer. He gave a tap to the end of the bar and grabbed his crisps, before sending another wink Callum’s way. “Get some sleep. That’s an order, soldier.”

Callum felt the loss as soon as he left the bar. Everything felt so empty now, as all the pastels and pales merged back into their mucky beiges. Callum didn’t know what was happening to him, but he knew it didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.

Callum leaned over the bar a little further, straining to hear the order over the music thumping in the background. “Two pints and a Bacardi and Coke?” he repeated, giving a nod of confirmation when the customer gave a thumbs up.

Alan’s birthday party was in full swing, and an attempt had been made to decorate the pub for the occasion. It wasn’t an impressive effort to say the least. Ribbons of cheap, multicoloured balloons lurked in corners, half of them burst already with the pressure against the cheap latex. A few disco balls were littered around the room, their mirrored lighting whisking around the space metrically and disorientatingly. There was one banner, hanging sloppily over the back wall with inconsistent letter size, reading ‘Happy Birthday Alan (You Pussy Magnet)’.

Thankfully there were no children at the party; the pub wasn’t a place you brought your kids into. Callum knew that more than anyone. Not until they were old enough to knock back a pint and trade in the currency of ‘banter’. Alan’s wife wasn’t at the party either, which said more than anything about what type of occasion it was. She was at home with the two young children, while Alan currently had his hands gripped on the hips of one of the local girls as she straddled him for an impromptu lap dance for his present, as most of the other men jeered and cheered him on.

Callum knew he wasn’t much better. He could have walked out, he could go over there and tell them to stop, that this was a respectable business and remind them all there was a young woman at home, looking after his two infants.

He just wasn’t that brave, which sounded idiotic considering he was a soldier and everyone threw the words ‘courage’ and ‘hero’ at him. Thinking that just because they were pointed in his direction they had to stick. That was different though; everything he did in his work was directed and regimented. There were rules and guidance to follow. And maybe some of those led to sacrifice and personal hardship, but at the end of the day he didn’t have to explain them using his own choices. All he had to do was follow the direction and have all his options made for him.

To walk over to that group of men and stand up to them though, would be like a lamb happily bounding into the slaughter house. All he’d achieve would be half an hour of mocking, jeering, name calling and embarrassment. He’d be painting a target on his back while they questioned him, pointing out that any choice he made that would be his own. They’d continue to question his motives and the reasons behind them. They’d berate him and attempt to pull him apart to see what was inside.

“Judy,” he called out, handing the customer his change. She was sitting at the bar again, on her own this time. It was her day off from her job, which meant she was free, and her choice was to spend it watching Callum work. He wasn’t worried about having to take her home tonight though. Jonno and Stuart were out working today, some decorating job, so they’d be collapsed on the sofa later. He probably wouldn’t get away early anyway; they’d be a lot to clear up after the party. “D’ya want to go check Helen’s alright?”

It was a cowardly act, to send someone else over. Especially this girl who looked like she would hang the moon if he asked her to. He was taking advantage of her kindness and affection for him because he wasn’t brave enough to stand up for what he believed, instead cowering in the corner.

“Oh she’s fine! She’s been after Alan since the school leaver’s disco!” Judy said, sucking the last of her drink up noisily. “She sobbed her heart out when he married Tessa. Trust me, she’ll be enjoying it a lot more than he will.”

Callum glanced another look up to the scene where Helen was now sitting beside Alan, her arms around his neck and whispering in his ear with a giggle, while he was downing a pint. The leering and goading crowds had stopped for now, but it wouldn’t be long before they were back, creating an arena and cheering some sleazy man on as his trespassing hands clawed and mauled up and down his victim’s body while the audience roared and bayed like he was a gladiator doing battle.

As Callum wiped down the bar, the DJ’s voice mumbled out in a buzz across the room. It was only Dogger’s nephew with a sound system, an old CD player and a microphone, and a couple of neon lights surrounding it. The music was as you would imagine; the songs that would feel outdated even at a wedding in the 1990s. Callum loved old music, he had reams of vinyl, and even more on his phone. This was just the same old tried and tested songs that were belted out on every occasion. Without the banner, this could have been Harry’s retirement party from last year, Victor’s 50th birthday from five years ago, or Jocky’s Stag Do from twenty years ago. There was no individuality here, no distinctiveness, and any uniqueness wouldn’t have been wanted. They would just go on doing the same things over and over.

The stuffy air and the droning noise was starting to get stifling. Glancing at his watch, he motioned towards Steve. “Alright if I take my break now?” he asked, folding up the cloth and placing in on the bar.

“Yeah, go ahead Halfway,” the manager responded. “They’re just about to give Alan his presents anyway, so the bar will be slow for a bit. Ellie and I can manage for now.”

Callum nodded his thanks, and headed towards the door. As he found himself on the landing, he gripped the banister to go upstairs to his room. To what he considered his space anyway. He stopped when he remembered Dogger’s nephew and a few others going up and down from there earlier, digging out a few decorations and CDs that were stored in the room.

There was a chance that if he went up there for ten minutes, then anyone could walk in and ask why he was sitting alone in the dark. They’d go back downstairs and have a laugh about it in the bar; Pathetic Halfway crouched up in a corner like a child in the dark while everyone else is having the time of their lives.

Instead, Callum headed down the stairs, past the spare toilet that no one ever used, and out into the night. It was cool, the immediate fresh frost of the air feeling like a different world to the heady, tight atmosphere in the pub. He hadn’t brought his coat out with him, but he didn’t mind. It felt good to have himself surrounded by the chill, to feel the season tingle on his arms and bite at his nose.

Callum sat down on the step infront of the door and just watched the Saturday night traffic zoom its way past. He wondered if they spotted him, driving in their mismatched vehicles or with their head leaning on the bus window. What did they think of him, this man alone in the winter’s night?

This wasn’t the only January evening he had ever spent perched on this small piece of concrete. It was a common occurrence when he was little. His dad would drag him along in the afternoon, sit him down and tell him he’d only be an hour. One would change into two, and then into more as Callum was left by himself with just his daydreams to occupy his afternoon. Eventually, his dad would stumble out, barely able to make it down the stairs and Callum would scurry after him home.

Leaning his head back against the wall, he took some deep breaths. It wouldn’t be long before he would have to go back in from his break. He just wanted to sit and relish the silence and quiet for a few seconds. The traffic being nothing but white noise as he closed his eyes.

“Well if it ain’t my favourite barman, slash soldier, slash…“ a voice said, close to him. “What else are you, Callum?”

Opening his eyes, he could see Ben standing by the steps, with an almost empty bottle of vodka in his hands. He looked tipsy, his eyes fluttering a little more than usual and a tinge of pinkness to his cheeks, though that could have been from the cold. “What are you doing here?”

The was a look in Ben’s eyes as their gaze locked, almost like confusion for why Callum would ask that question, like the answer should be obvious. It may have been, but his mind could never quite focus when Ben was around. Every muscle movement, every syllable uttered and every fleckle of his eye seemed to hold a fundamental meaning that Callum couldn’t quite crack the code to yet.

“It’s that bloke’s birthday tonight, ain’t it?” he replied, staggering down on to the step next to Callum. He wondered if Ben could feel it too, this crackle and pull when they were near. He quickly dismissed the question from his head, as there would be no answer that could placate his mind. All of them would bring their own brand of torture. “I love a good knees-up; it ain’t a proper party until I rock up, trust me. You not in the celebrating spirt?”

“I’m just on a break. I’m working behind the bar,” he explained, and the chill had gone in the air. It was like January had been grabbed by July and thrust out the way, replacing itself and bringing on the humid air which heated and fired and thickened.

Ben nodded and took another swig of his vodka. For someone who had come all this way for a birthday party for someone he didn’t know, he didn’t seem in any rush to get in. It didn’t make much sense. “Drink?” he said after a moment, offering the bottle to Callum.

He shook his head, holding up his watch. “I should probably get back in before Steve gets the hump at having to pour his own pints!” he joked, and that came so easy. It was so effortless to just let an innocuous weak gag trail off his tongue. It was so difficult to let anything more slip out. His muscle memory had control and would ensure it.

As Callum started to get up, Ben did the same but stumbled when he didn’t have anything to cling on to stabilise himself. Though the bottle was almost empty, he wasn’t drunk enough to have had it all that night, but he was certainly tipsy, even if the phrase merrily couldn’t be used

Instinctively, Callum reached out a hand and grabbed Ben around the arm, pulling him towards his body without even thinking about it. They were standing close now almost inches apart, Callum’s fingers seemingly magnetised on to the other man’s bicep. There was a thick leather jacket between him and Ben’s skin, but it felt wafer thin in that moment, as the firmness and shape of his arm felt solid in Callum’s grip. It felt natural.

It wasn’t his hand that was causing Callum’s heart to stir awake; to flurry around and hit a panic, bashing and crashing in his body to rouse it. That was nothing compared to the way Ben was looking up at him. There were cracks in those icy eyes, and Callum could almost, almost get a glimpse into the deep ocean below. They were inviting him to try.

Impulsively, Callum’s eyes dropped to Ben’s lips. They didn’t mean to, but his rebellious body was working against him, urging and pushing and screaming to finally let himself have one moment. To let them have something that fed this desire that flooded through his body day after day, weeping and crying to be fulfilled.

Ben’s lips were blush pink and looked smooth like a velvety petal. Callum had seen them sharp and edgy, flipped into razor lines that could slice and cut with the words that slipped out. They weren’t like that now, with all the corners dissipated away. They was soft and rounded, fleshy and inviting. Ben chewed at the corner of one, the rhythmic suck hypnotising to Callum’s spellbound eyes, like an enchantment was being cast.

A loud toot of a horn on the road caused Callum to blink, and it was that action that managed to force all those crying, weeping and begging desires back down, and silence their pleading. He dropped his hold of Ben’s arm like it burned through his skin, and took a step back, the closeness of their bodies now feeling intrusive and unnatural to Callum’s mind. “My breaks’s over,” he said.

There was a short roll of Ben’s eyes at his comment, as the ice closed and fused over the cracks that had started to appear. He turned his face away, his brow furrowed and his lips back to create a sharp line as he lifted the bottle up to take another swig. “You can’t take that in,” Callum said softly, his body berating him for pushing away a possibility and a hope.

Ben raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement and held out the vodka reluctantly, still keeping his gaze looking into the road and away from Callum.

It wasn’t until he reached out and took the bottle, that Callum realised his fingers were trembling. It was like they were trying to rebel from him, itching and shaking with their urges and the lack of fulfilment they were being served. He gripped the neck of the alcohol tightly and brought the opening to his lips, swigging back a long mouthful.

The burn to his throat was momentary, and more comforting and warming than harsh. He could see Ben looking at him, as his lips closed, encasing the round, thick opining of the long bottle and he curled his tongue to suck down the escaping, leaking liquid, swallowing deeply and visibly.

“Good boy,” Ben said, the corner of his lip quirking up as he stuck his hands in his pockets and walked towards the door. Callum took a deep breath, had another quick swig of the bottle before placing it on the pavement by the wall and following him in.

Callum couldn’t help but watch Ben as he made his way up the stairs, following him a few steps behind. It seemed like he couldn’t help himself tonight, his body disobeying his mind, wanting to look and touch in a way he knew wasn’t usually allowed by his conscious thoughts. They reached the door to the bar, and Ben swung it open, the sounds and tight air engulfing them both completely after only a second, as some of the revellers were forming a disjointed and broken conga line while ‘Come on Eileen’ rattled out of the tinny speaker. “Who knew the 1970s were alive, well and thriving in Canning Town, eh?” Ben snarked out, smirking up at Callum.

He couldn’t look at his eyes, not in here, not like this. Callum couldn’t risk anyone seeing and making something out of it. He made his way back behind the bar, tapping Ellie on the shoulder to signify that he was back and she could go on her break if she wanted.

Much to Callum’s surprise, Ben didn’t go and join everyone else, but instead slipped onto a stool at one end of the bar. Callum poured out a few drams of whiskey, grabbed a bag of crisps and uncapped a bottle of larger, placing them in front of Ben with a small smile.

The party was still in full swing as pints of beer swelled over their restrictive containers while their owners jostled and roared with laughter. Top buttons of shirts were undone, as ruby faced revellers, their eyes bulging with toxicity, slacked back on some of the seats. There was still a small crowd around Alan, making sure his birthday celebration followed some sickening checklist and itinerary. Thankfully, Callum had missed the present opening, although the evidence from it was still littered in the bar. Scraps of thin, cheap wrapping paper lay deserted on tables, trampled on and coating the carpet and hanging and blustering on to the arms of chairs. Then there were the presents themselves.

There were the usual gifts that always turned up at every birthday party they held; football scarfs, dirty magazines, a box of condoms and silver tankards. Callum couldn’t help but notice a new addition though, sat next to Alan; a life size inflatable in the shape and form of a naked woman.

Callum shook his head slightly as the roaring and whooping continued, as man after man took his turn to grab the inflatable, drag it into a different position and thrust into it with their crotch, as the crowd re-enacted the lurid and obscene noises they assumed the woman would be making. Callum shook his head slightly, his disdain not able to hide within as he cleaned down the bar. The only positive aspect of the group’s act being the pause in the music, which had momentarily stopped as Dogger’s nephew was now bending the doll over a table and grinding into it with a whoop from the other men.

“You gonna walk me home later, Callum?” Judy asked, a little slur in her speech. She was propped up at the opposite end of the bar from Ben, and still sliding down her drinks.

Callum swallowed heavily; he had wondered if the question was coming, but he was prepared with an answer. “I don’t think I can today, Jude,” he replied, and glancing towards Ben he noticed that he was following the exchange curiously. “There’s going to be so much mess, and it won’t be fair to let Steve do it on his own, so I can’t knock off at closing time.”

His heart settled a little now he had responded, and the answer he had been holding in for hours finally had the question to match up to it. “Well, why don’t I help you?” she responded, sitting up happily at her idea. “We’ll get it all done in half the time that way, and then you can take me home.”

He hadn’t prepared for this. In his head, he had explained that he couldn’t walk her, and she had just accepted it. He had a valid reason; it was a perfect excuse and now she’d smashed it into smithereens. This wasn’t a new experience though. Callum knew how to handle this. He’d been making excuses and placating people his whole life. It came naturally. “Nah, Jude. You don’t want to do that,” he told her with a smile. “You got work tomorrow and I don’t know how late this lot are staying. Steve might have a lock in. I’ll tell you what, why don’t we arrange to do something one night next week instead?”

That would give him time to think. Time to come up with another excuse and delay her even longer. As much as people used to rib him and mock him about what he couldn’t do, he knew his skills. He could lie easily, and lie well.

Judy was resilient though, and was gripping on tightly to her plan. “I ain’t got to go in till later tomorrow, so I might as well stick around and wait for you,” she said, removing her straw and downing her drink. “Steve’s got to kick these lot out eventually. We’ll tidy up and then head off.”

Callum’s brain was just picking through the next excuse when it was stopped in its tracks. “Give it a rest, love,” Ben called from the other end of the bar, taking a swig of his beer. “How many different ways does he have to tell you that he ain’t interested?”

“This ain’t nothing to do with you!” Judy jeered back, pointing her finger along the bar. “You ain’t from around here; you don’t know me and you don’t know him.”

Callum knew that Ben wasn’t someone who could end an argument without having the last word; he could just sense that. He wanted to speak up, to stop them both, but he didn’t know what to say. Callum didn’t know who he was supposed to agree with. “I may not be from around here, darlin, but the whiff of desperation don’t stink any less town from town,” he scowled back. “He don’t want you. I suggest you go straddle a different seat.”

“Ben!” Callum heard himself saying. It was all too much. He may be rejecting Judy but he didn’t want her hurt. He didn’t want to see her ridiculed like all the other men treated her. Like Callum had treated her himself. Perhaps that was the real catalyst for his outburst. He was putting his own shame on someone else because it was just easier. “You can’t speak to her like that!”

“Oh you want to go home with her do you?” Ben asked, looking at him narrow eyed. They were ferocious, his eyes now, ready and wanting a battle, craving a fight, claws ready to tangle into flesh, fangs ready to grip on to skin. “I’ll tell you what, say the word and I’ll finish your shift for you and tidy up after. You can go home now with her if you like. What do you say, Callum?”

His mind which could always find an answer, which could always lie itself out of trouble, which could always flick through and find a mask to wear that would fool everyone, was now stammering and stuttering. Callum was looking at Ben, and he knew suddenly that all those disguises he thought he had been wearing and holding, all those ones that everyone else could see, had been shattered. Right from the start Ben had seen through them, seen behind the curtain, he realised, and now he was throwing that knowledge back at him.

Callum’s emotions welled up, the last ditch effort to hide his nakedness from this man, the experience feeling too revealing and too shocking. “I ain’t doing this,” he muttered, drenching the tears back from where they were lining up, ready to skydive from his eyes. “You’re just some stranger who’s come in here tonight so you can critisise us. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

Ben scoffed, knocking back his whiskey with a scowl. “You don’t know anything,” he spat back with gritted teeth.

That wasn’t the first time that critique had been thrown Callum’s way. He had had it every stage of his life. ‘Stupid Halfway, he don’t know anything, just a harmless nobody’. Every time it had been pelted towards him, he caught it and wore it with a sad smile. When Ben said it though, it seemed to be sent over with metal spikes, and when he caught it in his hand, the sharp prongs stabbed and damaged, the blood tricking out in red tears. He didn’t want this from Ben, and it made him angry, so he hurled it back in the other man’s direction knowing the damage it could cause.

“You ain’t what they think you are,” Callum hissed, leaning closer on the bar, the mixture of the enticement and burn of Ben’s eyes drawing him in, making him want to fight ice with fire. “I know that.”

Ben slid off his stool, straightening his leather jacket around the collar. He was knocked of his stride a little, Callum could see that, and he was both exhilarated and repulsed by the fact he had managed to do it. He also knew that the spikes would be coming back his way again, and his heart beat loudly not knowing entirely when it would be returned and with the knowledge that if he didn’t catch it, then it would dig right into his chest.

“And what are you, Callum?” he asked, quietly and wickedly, before turning around and heading towards the party.

The question hit Callum’s whole body, stinging and digging in fully. He didn’t know the answer, but he had this awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that maybe Ben did.

The party rolled out for another hour, Callum only leaving the bar to quickly collect glasses, swerving through tables to avoid being noticed. Ben had now integrated himself in with some of the group, chatting to Steve, and answering all other’s questions and heckles with a scathing wit and a laugh. He’d even banged on the speaker, and encouraged Dogger’s nephew to start up the music again much to Callum’s annoyance. It just rattled through the room, poking at his skull with a scratch.

Judy was still lingering on her seat at the end of the bar, her face saddened but hopeful. She was clearly still waiting for everyone to leave in the expectation she would get her walk home. Callum didn’t see a way out of it now, not with what Ben had said to her. It would look too suspicious, too like he was avoiding her rather than just a reasonable excuse.

He went to take some of the rubbish out the back, and when he returned he noticed the bar a little emptier now. Most of the partygoers had been knocking back a fair amount of booze throughout the evening so it seemed many were finally beginning the long stagger home, some to stop and grab a greasy kebab on their way, and some to throw up the night’s memories into the gutter.

Dogger’s nephew had disappeared, and so had Freddie who ran the bookies down the road. Alan, the birthday boy had gone, and so had Charlie one of the older punters. Most notably though, to Callum’s eye, Ben was also now missing from the room.

Callum waited patiently, glancing his eyes over to the toilet door in case he had just nipped to the loo. Once Dogger had walked into the gents, and then stumbled out a few minutes later, he realised that Ben wasn’t in the pub anymore. He’d just left, gone, with as much mystery and secrecy that he had entered with. Callum didn’t know how he felt. He was still reeling from the argument earlier, but at the same time, there was a flood of disappointment that he couldn’t explain. It felt exhausting.

With tiredness in his body, he went to go and collect some more glasses in the hopes that it would speed up some more exits. As much as he wasn’t looking forward to walking Judy home, at least he couldn’t take her back to his flat with his dad there, and he didn’t want to be here either with the rest of the revellers getting further and further drunk, as more and more inhibitions and social conventions dripped away.

It was as he feared when he started to wipe down a table near the remaining main group of men, and he heard his name being called. “Oi, Halfway,” one of the voiced heckled. “Come on, son. You ain’t had a go yet!”

Turning around in horror, he realised the inflatable doll was being thrust towards him, and he caught on to her arm with one hand. “Sorry lads, bit busy tidying up at the moment,” he said, a smile set on his jaw and he gently tried to put the inflatable down.

“Come on, lad!” Dogger bawled out, his hair sprawled over his sweat encased head like a fleet of dead spiders’ legs, as he used his jabbing blobbed fingers to thrust the doll back his way. “Show us how you took old Judy Jugs over there!”

“I’m beginning to think you’re like an Action Man down there, Halfway,” Chunky whined out, his hollowed cheeks sunken even further into his skeletal frame. “You wait till we all leave to get your kit off at football. What’s the matter? You hung like a gnat down below?”

He waved his little finger in there air for emphasis, as they all screeched and cackled along. Callum could feel his cheeks redden, and his eyes started to glaze over, the room spinning slightly to and fro like it was trying to rock him out of this world.

“Yeah, come on Halfway,” Gary chugged out. He was a vile creature with a droning voice and a hyena stare. He looped his fingers into Callum’s belt. “Get your cock out and show us how you’re going to pound Judy later. We might be able to give you some pointers!”

The hand on him was the final straw, and he felt the fire in him expel up like the temperature gauge of a thermometer that had been thrown into the gates of hell. “No!” he shouted, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears. He took a step back, trying to get some distance, stumbling into the table behind him.

The crash of glass, ricocheted around his ears, as the revolving disco lights caught the glow of every single shard as they floated around him. It felt dream like, the scenery seeming impossibly imaginary, though he knew this was real. He knew everything that was happening now was true and couldn’t be taken back.

Without looking behind him, he staggered out the bar door, his vision still blurred and his head still pounding with the echoes of their cruel laughter. He put his hand on the banister, wanting to go upstairs, to his room, and just be alone. Just wait there until they had all gone. When he looked up though, he saw a light on and remembered that Dogger’s nephew must be up there, packing up his equipment.

Instead he stumbled down the stairs, prepared to go outside and let the air hit him and take some of the shame away. He needed to cool his cheeks down first though, he needed to splash some water on his face and awaken from this nightmare.

Without thinking, he pushed the door to the downstairs toilet open, knowing he could compose himself in there alone. The empty space he visualised he’d see as he stepped through the door was intruded on though, and he came face to face with Ben.

Callum didn’t see everything at first, just Ben’s face which was cold, uninterested and sterile looking as his head leaned back against the wall. It wasn’t until he heard sounds, that he realised they weren’t alone.

It was a staggered choke and a muffled cough that kept hitting his ears as a poorly hidden retch soon followed. Callum glanced his eyes down at a man on his knees in front of Ben. The thin posture, clothing, and large piece of paper labelled ‘birthday boy’ stuck to his back, immediately identified him as Alan.

His brain was clearly trying to fool him, trying to make up excuses and lies like it usually did for other people, because at first he thought perhaps Alan was being ill. That maybe he’d had one too many and he’d staggered down to the toilets to chuck up all the impurities from his body. Ben was here helping him, making sure he was alright. Callum eyes still were only choosing to focus on parts of the picture in front of him though, and he knew if he let himself look, if he stopped day dreaming, he’d see the reality clearly.

He did. He followed his eyes down to where Ben’s jeans were open at the fly, his belt hanging loosely down the leg of his trousers. Alan’s jeans were open too, he let himself notice, as they rode low at the back, the crack of his bum visible and his left hand stuck under his briefs, moving rapidly. His other hand was around the base of Ben’s cock as he thrust it forcibly into his mouth.

Ben met Callum’s eyes, almost apologetically at first, but then he could see a burn forming. Those icicles lasering across the room at him, as the corner of his lips forced itself into a sharp edge.

Callum couldn’t bear it any more, as the longer he stayed, the more the faded nightmare became a vivid truth. “Sorry,” he mumbled, to who he wasn’t sure, before he turned, his hand fumbling for the door.

It squeaked shut slowly behind him, the entrance to that world mocking him by not letting him slam it closed quickly. It infuriated him, as his tears started to pool hotly at his eyes, and a fireball expanded within him at the events of the last ten minutes.

Everyone was mocking him, everyone was using him and everyone thought he was worth nothing. Just something that could be thrown around and teased, that didn’t have any feelings inside, and he was angry at himself because he knew he’d made that image for them. His heart thunder-bolted and all he wanted to do was tear it out of his chest, storm back in the bathroom and hurl it on the floor at Ben’s feet to let him know what he had done.

The urge to claw at his own body grew, further and further, to berate himself for his foolish ideas and for not being like everyone else. He kicked open the front door with his toe, feeling the sting rattle up his foot.

It wasn’t enough though, not once Ben’s face had appeared his head again, smirking at him and asking him who he was. As Callum stretched his hand out quickly and punched the wall, one thought fired and bled through his body.

He hated Ben. This time he was certain.


	5. The Bathroom

Callum lifted his head from the pillow, the sleep drifting away. His whole body felt bruised and battered, though he only had the one mark to show. It reminded him of when he first joined the army and the training pushed and moulded his body in a way he’d never imagined. The feeling of pure exhaustion, of having nothing else left and nothing more to give.

After he left the pub last night, his legs just pounded down the road. It had been cold that night, approaching freezing, but he hadn’t felt it in his bones. The agony that pulped through him was keeping him going, keeping him walking for as far as his legs could carry him.

He must have walked for miles, circling around the area; he couldn’t even remember where he exactly went, the blur of darkness and artificial light moulding together in the corner of his eye. It was his mind where all his focus was, not that he wanted it to be, and he walked faster in the hopes he could get away from it. All the images in his head seemed to be on a big wheel spinning rapidly. Every time it stopped on one, he just spun it again, not liking the picture that came into view.

Eventually, he found himself back in Canning Town, his feet paying enough attention to take him to the right place, even if the rest of him wasn’t. He could just smell the change of air, this invisible forcefield that sucked him in whenever he got close. It could be easily forgotten when you were out of it, or at least you could pretend it was some faraway land, like Oz, and it only really existed in your imagination. As soon as you came back through, the vividness ploughed through, every smell going straight to your stomach, every sight piercing your brain, and every sound bounding through your body.

It was late by the time Callum arrived back at the flat, but this anger was still coursing strongly through his veins. A flash of purple on his hand with a smear of scarlet provided evidence of the evening. Even if he wanted to pretend it was all a nightmare, there was the proof on his knuckles reminding him of everything that happened.

It was a mixture of all the night’s events that kept this fury bubbling away in him. He was thankful that Jonno was in bed we he got back, otherwise he didn’t know if he could hold it in. Not with the comments his dad would make. The teasing from the men at the pub, he could usually just shrug it off, find an excuse and get away, but tonight he hadn’t been able to. There was Judy just incessantly there too, a continual presence in the corner of his eye, her face begging and pleading for something that he couldn’t give.

Then worst of all was Ben. The argument that evening had annoyed him, got under his skin and scraped along his nerves, but in truth it was what he saw in the toilets that had infuriated him most.

It wasn’t the fact that Alan had a lovely wife at home who was looking after his children. It wasn’t that, although they don’t get many kids in pubs, one could have just popped in to use the toilet and seen them. It wasn’t the many homophobic ‘jokes’ that Alan laughed along with or created himself, or the digs he made about Callum’s and others’ own sexuality.

The main reason for his anger was that he wished it was him on the floor in front of Ben.

That confession, that small personal secret to himself did nothing but raise his tension further, as now he could add himself to the list of people he wanted to kick and push out of his life, out of this bubble that constrained and restricted.

The image of Alan on his knees, with his hands and mouth on Ben prickled and pinned at his body, itching underneath the skin, right through the centre of the bone. He couldn’t get it out of him, the fury to scratch and scar and mark. It sheathed his body in a greasy film, that just wouldn’t fall off.

Callum moved into the bathroom and turned the shower on. It wasn’t a proper shower, just a badly installed wall-set over the cracked ceramic stained bath that occupied most of the space in the room. He hurriedly removed his clothes, his skin now feeling like a hundred baby spiders were crawling out from every pore, scurrying around each limb.

He hopped over the side of the bath and let the water cascade down his body. It wasn’t yet hot, and it probably wouldn’t get warmer than this. He hadn’t turned on the water heater, so it was just the remnants left in the tank. He wasn’t going to wait any further though.

The wheel of images had stopped spinning, and had just landed on one. This time Callum didn’t force it away. He tried to remember Ben’s face. It had been more empty and vacant than he had ever seen it until he noticed Callum was there. Then the flush of life had come back into his expression; a bitter one with a twist. He had seen that in Ben’s eyes, in the sharp line of his mouth. He was glad that Callum saw them.

His mind scanned down lower in the picture. Alan’s pasty head was in the way, but he could almost zoom in to where Ben’s jeans were open. A scurry of soft hair and a patch of smooth creamy skin were visible, framed by the blue denim, as his hand held up his shirt exposing a soft lower belly. He merged that with the image of Ben’s face, even with the ferocious eyes, or if he were honest, especially with them. There was something about that burning ice, that rebellious cocky smile that pulled him in, that challenged him to change it, to overtake it and dominate it.

Now when Callum saw that picture, Alan wasn’t there at all. He’d been cut out, hacked away with a scalpel and replaced with a soft blur and a wisp to fill the gaps in his imagination. Now it was just Ben there, head back against the harsh wall, eyes challenging and mouth sinful. His fingers were grazing the top of his sensitive thigh as he was pulled out of his jeans, ready and waiting.

He tried to step forward in the image, but he couldn’t; an invisible barrier preventing him getting close, from reaching out and touching, from manipulating and moving. It was frustrating to only get so far, to only have a matt painting in front of you that looked and felt so real; you just couldn’t jump through the frame to become a part of it.

It was like Ben was controlling it, freezing Callum out of the scene, saying it wasn’t for him. That it wasn’t him he had wanted. The tepid water that was raining on Callum’s hair and trickling down his body, seemed to heat up, to turn into tiny drops of lava, into cobbles of star-sparks that burned and spat and sizzled down his body. It encased him not in a warmth, but in a burn as he felt the tension hidden in him being reached by the fuel, and then burst into flames.

He grunted lowly, before reaching down and grabbing his own cock with a harsh hand, furious that he couldn’t touch the image that stamped itself in front of his eyes. He could look though, and Callum let himself look as he roughly started to stroke his length.

He was relentless in his action, speeding up so the friction was rough and course, regularly swiping over the head with a brutal thumb that made him hiss, but not stop the pace. There were growls echoing off the walls that could have only come out of his mouth, but he didn’t recognise them. He wasn’t familiar, this person who he was letting out.

Callum’s other hand dropped to his balls, cradling them and rubbing, keeping them firm in his hand as his fist continued to pump at his cock; there was no hesitancy, no shame creeping in that he had to bat away, or uncertainty about what he wanted. There was only fire, there was only rage, and there was only Ben’s eyes in front of him.

The grunts came out with every breath now as the air was pushed from his lungs. That fire now turning into a warm wave and the rage into a swelling pleasure and he stuttered a release on to the ceramic, his mouth opening and closing with just one word on his lips.

The thumping of the water on the bottom of the bath seemed to grow louder around him, like a jeering audience. His eyes drooped, as his chest filled more naturally with air, and his body sagged against the wall. Callum hit the button off for the shower, wincing as it caught the bruising on his hand. He could start to feel the pain in it, now that it wasn’t being numbed with anger.

Stepping out the bath, he grabbed a fresh towel and haphazardly rubbed it over his hair and body before loosely tying it around himself and heading towards his room. Callum let it drop to the floor, left to fester on the ground. It was so unlike him, to create this eyesore in an otherwise perfect environment, but perhaps he was losing hold of his rebellion. Perhaps cracks were forming and aspects bleeding through after so long of standing and holding up the walls.

He didn’t even bother to turn the light on, just grabbed some fresh sleeping clothes out of his draw and threw them on, curling up in his bed. It surprisingly didn’t take long for him to sleep, his mind banishing any image back to its cage, but the last thing he remembered were the cool tears slipping down his nose hitting his lips with a salty fizz.

This morning, all that pain had come to dry and settle, turning into a cemented weight on his body and in his mind. He didn’t want to get up, there was no point and nothing to get up for. For the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, Callum laid his head back down on the pillow, and closed his eyes back up before any of his thoughts had time to stretch and stir.

There was a loud knocking in his head. Lifting his eyelids again, he wasn’t sure how much longer he had slept. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours. The banging repeated itself again, only it wasn’t coming from his dreams, but from his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” he called out, his voice horse and crackling with scars. “Come in.”

Tentatively, the door opened, and Stuart popped his head round, his eyes darting around the room as if he’d just entered a murder scene. “You alright, Bruv?” he asked, though by the look on his face it was clear he had his answer. “I’m popping down the pub in a bit. Thought you might want to come for a bit of a catch up.”

Callum shook his head. He wasn’t meant to work today, and at the moment he didn’t want to spend one minute more in that place than he had to. “Nah, you’re alright, Stu,” he replied, hoping his brother wasn’t going to insist. “Gonna have a quiet one in today.”

“You sure you’re alright?” he repeated, squinting intently at Callum. “You don’t half look peaky.”

“It was a late night,” he replied, knowing it was a vague enough answer to satisfy without going into detail. “Just gonna get a few extra hours of kip.”

“Alright, well I’m going in half hour if you change your mind,” he replied. “Dad ain’t coming so it would just be you and me.”

Callum nodded his head, before letting it hit the pillow as his bedroom door was closed. There was no way he could go back there. Every corner of that place held memories from last night and none of them were good. He would have to go in at some point, apologise to Steve for leaving him with the clearing up. In fact, he was surprised his manager hadn’t called him to ask where he’d gone-

Callum sat up, his eyes open wide now. His phone was in his jacket pocket. The one that he hadn’t put on when storming out last night. He groaned at his stupidity, kicking himself that this was another thing he couldn’t do right.

He could just leave it for a day, he supposed. It wasn’t as though anyone close ever contacted him. It was only acquaintances that he referenced as friends. Even if they sent him a message, it wouldn’t have any expectation for an immediate response. His wallet was in his coat too, but again he wasn’t in a hurry to retrieve it. It wasn’t as though he had any cash in it, and he wasn’t worried about the cards. As much as he loathed those men at the bar, they wouldn’t steal from Jonno’s son. They might go through his pockets, see if there was anything that would give them a laugh, but they wouldn’t nick anything.

The pockets. That’s where he was still keeping the letter. The one he had received days and days ago now, and still not opened. He’d kept it with him though; he needed to keep it safe, to keep it close in case anyone saw. In case anyone opened it up and the contents revealed too much. Callum was left with no choice. He had to go get it back, before anyone saw what was inside.

“Stuart!” he called out, pulling back the covers. “Give me ten minutes to get dressed. I’m coming with you.”

Callum’s heart rate sped up the nearer they got to the pub, almost like when he left last night everything had been paused. It was a ridiculous thought, but a plaguing one that had stayed in his head. He had to realise that sometimes, that when he left a place, things still carried on, they didn’t just sit and wait for his return. The men wouldn’t still be frozen in their bullying laugh and Ben wouldn’t still be leaning against the wall in the gents.

“You’re quiet,” Stuart said, after five minutes of Callum barely even giving monosyllabic answers to his questions, just a few grunts of recognition. “Something the matter?”

Callum shook his head. There was always this boundary with Stuart. He looked out for his little brother, he knew that. It was part of the reason he didn’t get as much stick around here as he probably could have. Anyone upset the younger Highway brother in an unacceptable way, would have to face the wrath of the elder. Callum’s life had been awful enough, but he dreaded to think how excruciating it would be without Stuart.

That being said, having his brother in his life didn’t always make things easier. Stuart wasn’t his dad, but he certainly had aspects of his character. He wouldn’t always listen to what Callum wanted, instead insisting on doing what he thought was best for him, ignoring his requests. His brother would also just go straight in with his fists. It was strange when he thought about it. Callum’s temper was quick and uncontrollable, like he was losing it before he even noticed it was there. His dad and Stuart though, their temper was slow, controlled and purposeful. It always scared him a little.

Stuart would never hurt him, he knew that, but he could rile up Jonno. As long as his brother was there, there was only so much his dad would do. There were times though that they’d both argue, and Stuart would storm out, leaving Callum alone to face his father’s rage. Jonno would make sure he never left a mark in a place Stuart would see. He was thoughtful that way.

As they approached the pub, Callum noticed a smashed bottle out on the pavement. Its clear glass was scattered in large shards, with the white vodka label hanging off, a piece fluttering in the wind, the language from a far away land littering its surface.

The odour hit Callum’s nose as soon as they entered; that hoppy, stale scent that you only found in a pub. He didn’t even look towards the door of the spare downstairs toilet, as they both made their way up the stairs, their shoes scuffing on the carpet

He was almost surprised when he opened the door to the bar and it was tidy, empty of all the mess, clutter and decorations it had been laden with when he had quickly left last night. Instead it just looked the same as it did every Sunday lunchtime. A few regulars watching the football, a couple reading the papers, but the tables were clear and there was no evidence at all of last night’s events. It’s almost as though it didn’t happen at all. Callum rubbed at his bruise on his hand, the ache spreading at the touch, reminding him that it was all very real.

Sheepishly, he followed Stuart to the bar, where Steve was standing. He didn’t seem that angry considering Callum had disappeared before the shift was over and left him with all the tidying up. “Mate, about last night…” he started, not entirely sure what he was going to say.

“You feeling better, Halfway?” he asked, pouring out a pint for them both. “You still look a bit green around the gills, mate.”

It was the thought of coming back here that had caused him to pale up, for that much he was certain. Callum was confused about why Steve was so calm about him just taking off. “Yeah, I’m feeling alright. I’m sorry about leaving you in the lurch.”

“No problems, pal,” he replied, placing a couple of packets of prawn cocktail and salt and vinegar down. “Ben explained everything.”

Callum’s hand froze as he reached for the crisps. Hearing Ben’s name from someone else’s lips being directed at him was unnerving, as though he had become part of his life. What exactly had he told Steve?

“Ben?” Stuart asked taking a sip of his pint, his face screwed up in confusion. “Who’s Ben?”

“That Mitchell boy I’m doing a bit of business with,” Steve explained. “Came up and said Halfway was chucking up his guts in the bog, and he’d told him to go home. Took over the rest of his shift, helped me tidy up and everything. He can’t pull a pint for shit, but I weren’t gonna turn away the help. Good of him to do your brother a favour.”

Stuart had a look of thunder on his face, as he narrowed his eyes at Callum. It made him feel like a fly being caught in a spider’s web. “Yeah, terrific,” his brother replied, his tone a stark contrast to the words. “I’ll have to thank him when I see him.”

“You seen my jacket about anywhere, Steve?” he asked the landlord, urging the subject to be changed.

“Nah, sorry mate,” he replied, moving along to serve one of the other customers who had crawled along to the bar. “Didn’t turn up round here when we was tidying.”

Both he and Stuart took their drinks and sat down at a table, nodding to the regulars who had their nose in the Sunday papers next to them.

“Guess I got to enjoy this while I can,” Callum said, trying to fill the silence. Trying to make sure the conversation was bland and insipid. “Won’t be doing this when I’m back in the army.”

“Why would he do that for you?” Stuart asked, frowning at his pint as though it were under interrogation.

Callum shrugged back at him. “What?” he replied, as though he wasn’t exactly sure who his brother was asking about. Instead he nodded towards the screen. “Here, I think City have got a good chance for the rest of the season. That defender they bought’s gonna fill that gap nicely.”

“He’s bent as a five bob note, ain’t he?” Stuart said, almost in a whisper, his stare intense at his drink. He turned his eyes upwards towards his brother. “Why was he talking to you?”

Callum shook his head and took a long sip of his pint, the liquid thickening in his throat as he swallowed it down. He could sense his cheeks heat up under his brother’s stare, as his brain started to spin through looking for the right answer. “I don’t know, do I?” he replied, remembering the excuse Ben had given the landlord. “I was too busy chucking up my guts to stop and ask. He must have only taken my shift to get on Steve’s good side.”

“That the only time you talked to him then?” Stuart asked. The bar was heating up again, this horrendous place that seemed to shove him under a spotlight and torture him until he confessed. “Just for a few seconds when you was yacking up chunks? You ain’t never talked before? Alone or anything?”

“No!” Callum replied with a tut. It wasn’t here a total lie. Whether it was out on the street or in the bar, they had never been alone together. It just felt like there was no one else around when Ben was in his sight.

Stuart nodded, and Callum hoped that was the end of the conversation. That desire was squashed quickly though when his brother leaned back on his seat to talk to the man at the table behind him. “Here, Wally? You’ve been about a bit,” he started, getting the man to lift his nose out of the newspaper. “That Mitchell boy; he’s queer, ain’t he?

“As a sodding Christmas tree,” Wally replied, turning the page. “That apple rolled a different path from the bush, let me tell you. Still wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit him, though. Gotta be wary of that one.”

“Cheers, mate,” Stuart said, clapping him on the shoulder, before swinging his chair back to the table. “See? Make sure you stay away from him, Callum. Us Highways have got a reputation around here. Grandad was a war hero, you don’t want people getting the wrong idea if they see you with the likes of him.”

“I just talked to him for a minute!” Callum explained, a little exasperation creeping into his voice without his permission. “I don’t even know him! He’s just someone Steve does business with. I ain’t never seen him before and I’ll probably never see him again.”

He didn’t know why disappointment wept through his veins at his last statement. Callum didn’t want to see Ben again. Why would he? He’d just tried to bring his world crashing down. This little reality that Callum had worked so hard to create, paint and protect. Ben had waltzed in and threatened to punch through it, showing him it was just a flimsy bit of canvas with a world painted on it. It wasn’t real.

“Good. That’s sorted then,” Stuart said. “You going to see Judy again before your leave ends? She usually pops in around this time don’t she?”

It hit Callum then. The real reason Stuart was so keen on getting his brother to come along today to the pub. He would have been in the Co-op first thing this morning when Judy was on earlies. No doubt he would have told her he’d have Callum at The Pig that afternoon. It was all a set up. Someone else thinking he could play with his heart and his head.

“I’m gonna have a scout around for my jacket,” Callum said, needing to get away. This temper inside him just kept flying up all the time at the moment. He was losing his grasp of it, holding on with sweaty fingers desperately, but knowing it was a losing battle. “Won’t be a tick.”

Callum swung around the tables, as he paced out the bar, his feet taking the stairs up to the room two at a time. When he opened the door, he shut it forcefully behind him, leaning his head back at the freedom. Taking a few deep breaths was all he needed. He started to turn around when he noticed something different in front of him.

The room was dark, the curtains being closed with just a slither of bright yellow rays beaming through. The rest of the space was encased in cool blue hue, calming and encompassing, like the waves rolling on to the beach at night. It never changed much, it was just used to store a few decorations and odds and ends. Now though, sitting in the middle of the room were six cases of vodka, with his jacket placed on top.

Callum looked at them oddly. They never kept the stock up here, and he certainly didn’t put his jacket on top on the boxes. It must have been Steve, or maybe Dogger’s nephew as he was up and down from this room last night. With that last thought, Callum quickly grabbed his coat and checked the pockets, his heart slowing when he realised that everything was still there.

That included the folded up letter, still firmly encased in its envelope. Callum grabbed his jacket, holding the paper in his hands, and went to sit on the floor. He ran his fingers around the edges, straightening them out, though the crease still remained.

Slowly, he let his index finger trace his name and address, following the dried and weathered ink through its lines, loops and kinks. He would recognise this handwriting anywhere. Callum hadn’t given out his address, of course he hadn’t. He was fine with giving out a phone number or an email address. You could send a call to voicemail or delete a message with one click of a button and little regret. He never gave out his address though. You couldn’t get rid of a face at the door, and this wasn’t someone that could come to his home.

He must have seen him write it somewhere, Callum thought. His mind couldn’t think of at what point he would have used it, but it must have been overseen at some moment. It was lucky really, that Callum had decided to come home, and it had arrived at a time when Jonno was fairly sober and calm. There were many occasions that he had to fish out soiled correspondence from the bin, trying desperately to wipe dried baked bean juice off his P60.

He may never have seen this letter had he chosen a different path. Carefully, he started to rip the corner of the envelope, running his finger jaggedly inside and along the edge, the material tearing with a buzz.

The paper inside was thin, and he could already see where the ink had threatened to bleed through and the force of the pen had created an embossed surface. Callum took a deep breath before unfolding the note. His two worlds weren’t supposed to collide. When he was away in the army, he ignored his life in Canning Town, forgetting the person he was and was deemed to be. Then when he was back, he did the same with the army, disregarding all he had been through and all that he was faced with. He ran between these two worlds, hoping beyond hope that neither would ever catch up with him.

As Callum unfolded the paper, it crackled slightly and he rubbed its smooth surface between his finger and thumb, knowing it was something he had touched when the letter was composed. His eyes darted to the return address at the top, written just above the date. Then he let himself start to process the words below.

_‘Dear H,’_

That was as far as Callum could get, before hurriedly folding the paper and envelope back up and stuffing it back in his jacket. It was the nickname. It took him back, wound its arms around his and tried to drag him into that place. His two worlds were trying to collide, trying to bleed in like ink in the rain and he wouldn’t let them.

Running a hand down his face, Callum heaved himself back up on his legs, and headed towards the door. Giving the boxes of vodka another curious look, he started to head out the room. Stuart would be wondering where he was by now, but at least he had his jacket in his hand as a valid excuse.

“Hello sailor!” Callum heard, as he pulled the door shut. The tone shot right through him, bounding and awakening his body like a ball bearing in a pinball machine.

Ben was standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his pockets and looking up at Callum. It wasn’t the same look that he remembered from last night though, the one he had seared into his cells until they burned. There was a hint of contrition, a snip of uncertainty that lived behind the confidence he was presenting him with.

There was nowhere to run. That was the first thought that crossed Callum’s brain. Something he relied upon to get him out of situations before they exploded, wasn’t an option now. He was trapped on the stairs. He would have no choice but to confront what was in front of him. That was terrifying, but thoughts of his shower last night made him a little less scared and a little more curious.

“Thanks for tidying the bar last night,” he muttered, taking a step down, taking a step closer, his breathing hitching in his throat as he was becoming more enclosed, as the gap of air between them slowly disappeared. “You didn’t have to.”

Ben turned his body slightly, leaning his back against the wall. It gave Callum a slither of space to escape if he wanted, and he couldn’t help thinking it was done with the knowledge that he may want it. That he might crave it. “Well, thought I owed you didn’t I?” Ben said, his hands still firm in his pockets. “Offended your delicate sensitivities when you walked into the gents last night.”

“It’s fine,” he replied. It wasn’t. He took another few steps down, being pulled in and needing to get a little closer, the slither of space to escape seemingly less desirable by the second. He didn’t want to get away. He wanted to be smothered. “It ain’t none of my business. Nothing to do with me.”

“I think most the blokes in there would be a little more vocal on the matter if they saw a fella being serviced in their local,” he said with a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. They looked soft, like they weren’t made of ice at all, but a river on a cold day, so frosty that the rapids could almost look white. “They find out a man’s gay and retreat into their little hideous shells like its catching.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Callum said, almost level with him now, his body hitting down the steps without him either realising. “I’ll keep it a secret.”

The cold took over and the river’s waves froze, the harshness bleeding and merging into Ben’s eyes at his comment. His hands came out of his pockets and he looked up at Callum, his jaw pushed forward and mouth in a harsh line. “You think I’m ashamed, is that it?” he hissed out, the words so full of force that Callum almost stepped back. “I ain’t embarrassed by who I am, Callum. You’re just like the rest of them! At least they’re honest in their hate though. You’re happy to brush it under the rug and forget about it, like I’m some piece of dirt that can just be swept away!”

He turned away then, and Callum couldn’t let him go, didn’t want him to. He wanted Ben to stay. He wanted to get back that softness, to burn away the cold. Callum didn’t want to make him feel like he looked down on him, that he was ashamed to be near him. He wanted to show that he wasn’t one of them, the temptation to rip his mask off and say ‘Look! That’s not who I am!’ overwhelming him.

Grabbing hold of Ben’s arm, he dropped off the final stair. They weren’t face to face, the height difference making sure of that, but there was nothing between them now, just air. Callum saw Ben’s eyes drop to his fingers, clasped and grasped on his jacket just as they had been last night. Ben looked curiously, before raising his own hand. Gently, as if he was afraid Callum was going to break, he rubbed his thumb along the violet bruise swelling there, looking up to ask a question with his eyes. One that Callum wanted to answer.

“Ben-“

There was a sharp clatter as the bar door opened behind them, and without even turning around Callum knew who it was. “There you are, bruv,” he said, his tone light until he saw who he was standing with. “What are you doing?”

“I was just helping Callum find his coat,” Ben replied quickly. He was good at this game, lies falling off his tongue rapidly and convincingly. He wasn’t as good as Callum though. No one ever would be. Ben never took his eyes away from him, he never let go of the gaze as the untruth came out. It was a goad, letting him know that he could keep secrets too; to let Callum know that he wasn’t the only one hiding.

“Judy’s here, why don’t you come get her a drink?” Stuart remarked pointedly, the comment clearly made for Ben’s benefit. “She won’t stop talking about you. I don’t know what you’ve done, Bruv, but it’s made her besotted. That famous Highway charm with women, eh?”

Ben rolled his eyes at the comment, and it made Callum stand back a little, unhooking the air between them. His fingers let go of Ben’s arm, slowly, as if they were rebelling and spiting the rest of him, throwing a tantrum and wanting to stay attached. On the way down they connected just briefly with Ben’s retreating hand, the brief friction sparking at the touch.

Stuart was still waiting incessantly at the bar door, as if he daren’t leave Callum alone for a moment. He rewarded him by stepping through, not missing the defiant stare that Ben and his brother shared as he too came through the door after him.

Stuart didn’t stop glaring in Ben’s direction until he had gone to the other end of the bar and started chatting with Steve. Callum had other worries though, namely the young woman perched on the stool by the bar, sucking down a vodka and cranberry.

All he had to do was make it a couple of weeks, and he would be free of Judy and back to the army. It suited him both ways. He could tell all his army mates about a girl he had met on leave. It would give him some stories to tell and expectations to finally fulfil. It would also mean that when he came back next time, he wouldn’t be expected to try and pick up a girl straight away. Judy would obviously move on while he was away, and he could pretend to be heartbroken at the rejection on his return. He had planned this. It sickened him, that he could use people in this way, manipulate them around him to hide away, but it was the only thing he could do.

There were just fourteen more days before he was back in the army. Two more weeks to string this poor girl along, to lie to her and make excuses. It was easier said than done though, especially when she kept popping up unexpectedly. “You alright, Callum?” she asked, her voice full of concern. “You feeling better after last night?”

“Yeah,” he started to reply, before realising he could use this to his advantage. “Well, not fully though. Feel like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer, can’t stop wanting to fall asleep.”

That would hopefully put her off for another day, give him an excuse not to walk her home or take her back to his flat. Then it would just be thirteen days to last. Thirteen days and he would be out of this wretched place. Why didn’t he feel happier about that?

His body answered for him, his head glancing over and seeing Ben talk animatedly with the landlord. There was a soft flurry of hair just falling over his forehead, framing his face as it perked into a quick smile. All that Callum wanted to do was walk over and brush it back, feeling the silk texture on the pads of his fingers. His body was willing him on, telling him it was only a few steps. They had done it earlier, squeezed away the air between them to get closer. He could do it now. It would be so easy.

Only it wouldn’t be. It would be the hardest choice in the world. It may be a simple act, but the meaning behind it was implosive. There was a slight flicker in Ben’s eyes towards his end of the bar, as he pushed himself down from the stool and headed towards the gents. It was almost inviting, that glance. Daring Callum to follow. Willing him to be brave.

It was more than bold though and Callum shook the thought off, turning back to talk to the landlord who had come to their end of the bar. “Here, Steve?” he asked, taking a sip of his drink. “Why’s there six case of vodka upstairs?”

Steve’s eyes widened, before coming closer to Callum. “Keep your voice down a bit, Halfway,” he said, holding his finger up in warning. “I don’t exactly want it advertised.”

Callum frowned. “What, it’s hooky?” he asked, knowing the answer by the look on the man’s face. “What you need it for? The supplier ain’t gonna be happy if we lower our spirit order.”

The landlord leaned across the bar. “It ain’t for the pub, is it?” he whispered. “I’m doing a little supplying here and there on the side. What’s upstairs is just the tip of the iceberg.”

Callum froze a little. He may go and do his job in a war zone, but that didn’t mean Canning Town didn’t have its own divisive lines. “Mate, you can’t do that!” he whispered back. “What if you-know-who got a whiff of it? You know they got the main chunk of the pie for knocked off booze around here. They won’t be happy if they find out someone’s trying to put their neck in the game as competition. Where you getting all this from anyway?”

Steve cocked his head at him, implying he was missing the obvious. It hit Callum then. Of course, it had to be him.

Glancing over, he noticed that Ben still hadn’t returned. A warning bell leapt into action in his head. It was like the previous evening when he disappeared. Only this time when Callum looked around the pub, he knew exactly why he hadn’t returned

Quickly making his excuses to Judy, Callum made his way to the toilet door. It was the one just off the bar, but he still got flashbacks from the previous evening. This time when he pushed open the door, he knew exactly what he would see, and was prepared when the image in his head almost exactly matched the view in front of him.

Stuart had Ben pushed against the wall, one hand gripped around his neck to keep him in place, and the other clung on tightly to his shirt. His teeth were gritted and his eyes rabid. It wasn’t a sight Callum ever liked seeing, but especially not now.

It was Ben who captured most of his attention though. His face looked so different from the expression he had when he was in the gents with Alan the previous night. The look he held before he noticed Callum had walked in. Then it was motionless and lifeless. Now though, his eyes sparkled like icicles falling from a ravine and stabbing the ground below, his breathing was audible, and a huge grating grin adorned his face. There was also a noticeable drag of blood down his lip that definitely wasn’t there earlier.

Ben was much shorter than Stuart, but that didn’t stop him trying to lift his body, look his attacker in the eye and challenge him. It was brave, Callum thought. Stupid, but courageous all the same. It was then that Ben noticed they weren’t alone in the room any longer.

“Baby brother come to see the show has he?” Ben spat out in his direction. “You like to watch, don’t you Callum?”

The comment pulled him out of his passivity. “Stu, what are you doing?” he asked, though it was obvious to everyone in the room.

“I saw him bothering you earlier,” Stuart remarked, giving Ben another shove back when he jolted his head forward. “I know what you’re like, you’re too nice to tell him to fuck off.”

“He was just helping me find my coat,” Callum repeated the story from earlier, though it came out with a stutter. A crack in his dishonesty that was starting to appear. “All he did was talk to me.”

“You know what he is! A little bum bandit. He’ll try and take advantage of your good nature,” Stuart bit back, lifting his hand to give a slap across Ben’s face. Callum winced much more than Ben did. His eyes may be showing struggle, but he wouldn’t give Stuart the pleasure of displaying it to him. “Earlier, yeah? Earlier you said you never wanted to see him again, after you found out what he was.”

Callum opened his mouth to disagree, to correct the twisted words, but nothing came out. He didn’t know how to lie out of this one without the truth pouring out with it. It was clear in Ben’s face though that he had heard his brother’s words and they had hit him like a punch to the stomach. This time he showed his pain as all that ego and brag fell from his face, and he attempted to get away from Stuart.

“Just let him go, please, Stu,” Callum begged, and there was a cry in his voice at having to watch someone else suffer a fate that he knew to well. There was a crack in his chest as he realised he was no different to those that sat back and watched him be teased and mocked last night. He could see Ben’s pain. It ran between them like a gold thread, and right now it was fraying. “Please. He’s Steve’s mate. He won’t be happy if he loses business.”

That seemed to be the right card to play, as Stuart released Ben with a final shove against the wall. He didn’t rush out the room, though. Instead, Ben took the time to straighten up his jacket, before going over to the sink and washing his hands, exaggerating every movement, rubbing every little second into Stuart’s face now that he had seemingly won the battle.

It was too much for Stuart to take, and Callum could sense that he was tempted to throw Ben back up against the wall. Realising this, he started to make his way towards the door, shaking his head and tapping Callum on the arm as an order to follow.

There was something stopping him from leaving though, as Ben dried his hands. There was a stubbornness in his face, a ferocity that would clean his hands of the situation but let the blood on his face remain. The desire from earlier, where Callum wanted to go over and stroke the piece of hair back from Ben’s forehead rose again. He wanted to reach over and rub his thumb along his lip, wiping away the screaming crimson patch. This time though there was no one to see. No one around to judge. He could do it. He wanted to do it.

“You know I was wrong about you, Callum,” Ben said, his voice a little shakier than normal. He wouldn’t let it reach his face or gait as he walked over. His eyes though, it showed there when he looked up at Callum. The melted ice pooling now, threatening to drop in a tidal wave. “You ain’t as bad as they are. You’re so much worse.”

With that, Ben swung the door open, causing it to crash into the wall as he left.

It was then he realised. It wasn’t Ben he hated. That’s not what he felt for him at all, but he pushed that thought back in his mind.

There was only one person to blame, one person to hate and loathe. That was himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	6. The Alley

Callum staggered a few steps as his knees seemed to wobble and waver, leaning his hand against the wall, fingerprints gripping on to the dappled paper. He felt powerless. A slave to his own actions, his own thoughts and failings. It was all his own doing though; he just stood back and let his brother berate and harass Ben, not even having the guts to speak out. He could have been honest with Stuart, there really wasn’t much to hide when it came down to it. All he had to say was he and Ben had a few innocent conversations. The newness of a stranger, the mystery and experience of someone you’d never met was a draw to him; Callum liked people and this was just another possible friend to add to a collection.

That still wasn’t the truth though, probably nowhere near, but it was believable. It would still be too much for his brother. Still too much. Callum shouldn’t want to know someone like him, shouldn’t show any interest, barely even a passing courtesy of a greeting. Stuart would question why Ben interested him, he would keep digging and digging, burrowing like a cockroach into his motives.

Ben had lied for him. He’d lied for him twice now, and they had only barely begun to start to know each other. He’d covered for Callum, made sure the people around him didn’t pressurise or provoke him about his actions. Why had he done it though?

Doubt began to creep slowly into Callum’s head, tiptoeing in with whispers and cackles. They had only spent a handful of moments together, nothing really, yet this man had been willing to lie and conceal for him. That’s not something people did, not without a good reason. Not without it benefiting themselves. Stuart was right after all. He was just manipulating him for his own amusement.

That’s what must have happened with Alan. Callum hadn’t thought it out before, but Ben would have known that Alan was married, he was wearing a wedding ring, and he heard frequent mention of his wife and kids at home during the party. He would have known that. He would have played on that.

Alan was completely razzled that night, they’d been throwing sambuca down his neck twenty minutes earlier. What if Stuart was right in his warning; Ben was as scheming as his brother suggested. Callum didn’t think he’d force anyone into anything but maybe he twisted Alan’s intoxicated brain enough to make him think that he wanted to go down to that grotty toilet and get on his knees.

That could be what Ben was doing to Callum, bending and directing his control, and forcing his way into his head. He had never had this problem before. Perhaps he had little thoughts now and then, but they were just uncontrollable mutterings in his mind. Everyone had them. It was only when Ben came along that they started to get worse, that he started to think about him in that way. Fingers reaching for his own body with the images that Ben had implanted in his mind, making him think it felt good.

It made him feel embarrassed that he had been taken in so easily by this outsider. That he had his head turned by someone who was a little different, in the hopes he’d understand how Callum felt. He just had to face it; he wasn’t like the guys around here, he couldn’t live up to their expectations. But that didn’t mean he was like Ben either.

That night in the gents downstairs, Ben had been laughing at him. The look on his face when he walked in; it had taunted Callum, knowing he was drawing him in like a Venus fly trap ready to snap. Ben had wanted him to see. Why would he do that unless it was out of spite? It was the same motivation when Callum came in the bathroom today and he made that little dig about wanting to watch. Ben just wanted to watch him squirm, just wanted to humiliate and isolate him, just like all the others.

Callum was just being used in someone else’s game, and it made his stomach pring into his throat. The idea that he had almost wanted to reach out and touch Ben made his body squirm with shame; he’d played into his little game like a pawn, only to be knocked off the chessboard when he’d served his purpose. The thoughts he’d put in his head, the urges he had made him have. That wasn’t who he was. That wasn’t who he chose to be.

The nerves in his arm started to squeal; he realised that he had been pressing the consuming rage of his thoughts down onto the bruise on his hand, the wall digging in and prickling harshly at the skin. It felt good, to feel that, to remind him of the pain. That agony would still remain once pleasure subsided.

Grabbing the handle to the door, he swung it back ferociously, the metal hitting the wall with even more force than it did for Ben. Everyone heard it and was looking as he left the bathroom. That’s what he wanted; he needed everyone to see this and know that his actions were his choice.

He strode past Ben, who was propped at the bar and nursing a drink, swilling it in his hand and still defiantly not leaving. Callum headed towards his brother though, who was sitting with Judy at a table. Stuart was still glaring across at Ben, as if he could keep him tethered with just a stare of his eyes. It wouldn’t be possible. It would be like trying to enclose a phoenix in a cage. Even if it burnt up, the ashes could still be swept through the bars. It couldn’t be trapped.

“Let’s get out of here, Jude,” Callum said, approaching the pair. He was looking. He could feel it. He could always feel it, and he smothered that thought quickly and decisively.

Judy’s hand froze, her mouth left open ready to receive the crisp she was about to crunch down on. “What?” she replied, looking around as if confused by the offer. Callum couldn’t blame her. After weeks of trying to do anything to avoid spending time with her, she probably didn’t expect him to initiate being alone with each other.

Instead of repeating the question, he decided to be proactive with his movements. Leaning forward quickly, he caught her lips in a kiss. That was his intention anyway. His rocketing fury and stuttered actions meant he made contact with her chin more than anything, as her crumbed lips caught the bottom of his nose. Callum held the act for as long as possible, counting out in his head for what he thought was an acceptable amount of time, before drawing away. He resisted wiping the crumbs off his lips.

“Let’s go back to mine, shall we?” he offered, and Callum knew the volume was excessive, booming through the room. Deliberately and excruciatingly loud, as the smile he plastered on his face seemed to ache in his cheeks.

Judy lowered her hand slowly, placing the crisp down on the table as though Callum was a wild animal, and if she moved too quickly, she would scare him away. “Sure,” she said, her eyes still examining him curiously. It annoyed Callum, grated on his nerves that she was silently questioning his decision. She’d been waiting for this for so long and was now making him feel like he was doing something unnatural, something she didn’t expect.

Callum held his hand out and Judy took it loosely before taking a final sip of her drink. He looked towards Stuart, who gave him a thumbs up. He seemed happy. He appeared to be pleased, but he knew his brother well enough to know that he was holding something back. Callum shook it off as he walked towards the door, before remembering to get his jacket.

It was still hanging over the stool at the bar. Callum gripped Judy’s hand and pulled her along, lifting up his coat from the chair. He knew he shouldn’t do it. It was going against everything he was telling himself, but his wretched body betrayed him again and he lifted his eyes up.

Instantly, he was met with Ben’s stare pooling back at him. Callum knew he would. The man’s eyes were judging him, the coolness defiant in its gaze. They were beautiful though.

It had almost happened again; he had almost relented under Ben’s charm, his glances, and his power. Callum knew better now. He knew that he was in control and he didn’t have to look. He had the ability to shut those thoughts away, not let Ben coax them out.

Perhaps Ben could see that fire in his stare. Perhaps it wrapped a hot path to his eyes and shattered the frost there, because for a second they darted to where Callum’s hand was gripped in Judy’s, and they softened. It clearly must have just been disappointment that Callum hadn’t fallen into his trap, hadn’t been fooled by his words, because Ben picked up his glass and toasted it towards them both, the scowl setting on his face.

Callum turned and hurried out the door, speeding down the stairs. This wrath was in him, punching and burning, and he needed to get it out. He stomped and scuffled his feet, wanting to exorcise this feeling out of his body, expel it from his soul. It was his life; that’s what his mind kept screaming at him, furious at the thoughts that invaded, protested and tried to coax him to believe the mistruths. That wasn’t what he wanted; he could choose who he wanted to be and he wasn’t going to let anyone tell him or twist him into something he didn’t want to become.

He could hear Judy’s heels scratch on the pavement as he continued his relentless pace towards the estate. He clutched her hand, but it wasn’t affectionate; it had no feeling or care in it, just a hopeless grip on a dreaded decision. Callum knew it should be more passionate than this, tangling fingers sensually, instead of hanging on like they were the handles of a plastic carrier bag. He just wanted to get home quickly. He just wanted to get this over with.

They arrived back to the flat without Callum even really looking at the poor girl he was dragging behind him. He didn’t want to yet. Not until he had to, otherwise he was afraid the guilt would get too much. The anger that was pushing and forcing back any rebellious thoughts might start to retreat and fade. That couldn’t happen. He dropped her hand, trying to fumble for his key, creaking the door open when he slipped it into the lock.

Laying sluggishly on the sofa was Jonno, beer can loosely hanging in his hand, with another three empty and battered containers littered on the table. There was some old western on the television, one that had probably been on a hundred times before, the sheriff’s eyes dominating the screen before the frame turned to the villain’s intense returning stare. They were in a stalemate, a hold out, and eventually one of them would fire.

At the sound of the door, Jonno cracked his head round, his eyes widening as he saw the two of them enter the lounge. A smile burned into his face as he scrambled his intoxicated body up off the sofa. Callum gripped Judy’s hand again.

“Alright son, what you got here?” he said, taking a swig of his beer, the can noisily clashing on his teeth. “You brought a friend home to play?”

Callum rubbed his face with his hand, ignoring the screams in his head, refusing to acknowledge the distant cry. “You know Judy, don’t you Dad?” he said, nodding towards the woman next to him. She gave a little wave, her eyes glancing curiously around the room. “We’re just gonna be in my room listening to some music, okay?”

Jonno chuckled to himself, turning back round to the film as the sheriff and the outlaw were still locked in their battle, still regarding each other as if nothing and no one else in the world existed. “Don’t mind me, boy,” he said, sitting back and relaxing. “You fill your boots, and anything else that opens up to you as well.”

Callum strode into his room, shutting the door behind him once Judy had entered. His pulse was pumping through his body, the blood cascading at the rate of rapids, accelerating with no sign of breaking. He still couldn’t believe he fell for Ben’s tricks. He couldn’t believe he almost started to believe the monsters in his head.

Judy slipped the strap of her bag from her shoulder and then pulled off her jacket, throwing them both carelessly on the floor. She slipped off her shoes, the toes of her tights twisted and laddered. She pulled her feet under her before sitting back on the bed.

Callum wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed like he was caught in a spin, like the needle of a record player stuck on the same few notes. They’d been here before, and he hadn’t been able to do it, every flesh and fibre of his body resisting. This wasn’t just with Judy, but all those girls that came before her. He felt like a failure, holding on to his virginity like he was waiting was someone perfect. That didn’t exist. There never was someone special because he never let it get too far. He always felt like he was on a bungee rope; he always intended for it to happen, but has always cowered away before he could.

There was never that right feeling, where it just clicked and it felt right. Was it supposed to? Were you suddenly just supposed to meet someone and know exactly what to do, know how to show them what you wanted, and know how to move speechlessly together?

Maybe he was just supposed to throw himself into it without thinking. Jump in and just do it. He wasn’t some naïve little teenager expecting fireworks. It was just an urge that needed scratched. That’s all. There was no reason why that couldn’t work with Judy or any other girl.

He quickly moved his hands to his jeans, pulling them down and letting them fall to his ankles before kicking them off with his feet. There was no attractiveness to it, no desire to look sexy or experienced. He wasn’t. He did it with the same finesse and intention as he did when was drunk and just trying to stagger into bed before his head hit a pillow.

If Judy was shocked by the move then she didn’t show it. She just continued to drum her fingers on the duvet as if she were at a shelter and waiting for the bus to appear in the distance. It was as if she’d been here before. It was mundane for her. She looked like she wanted to get it over with too.

Callum realised that he didn’t know what to do next. There wasn’t any instruction manual for this. Well not really, the hellfire that was the internet didn’t help; they didn’t have a certain page that would come up on ‘how to lose your virginity in your twenties to a girl from the local Co-op that you didn’t fancy’. It almost sounded funny in his head, like it was all a joke. It wasn’t.

Kissing was the next step he assumed, but that was probably the stage before getting your jeans off. The whole thing felt like a business transaction. Stuart had offered that to him once, a long time ago. He told Callum he could get him a girl, make his first time a little less nervy. Callum felt his cheeks boil as he explained he had already had his first time, no big deal. He had lied and said he’d got a bit drunk at a party and just did it. There were little details thrown in; the colour of the duvet, the number of shots he’d had and the song they were dancing to when he kissed this fictitious woman. He almost believed it himself, the specifics were so convincing. He told himself the same story, over and over again, every little detail committed to memory. It was like it had actually happened.

Callum stepped towards the bed and perched next to Judy. She sat up expectantly. She was waiting for him. He wished she wouldn’t. He just wanted her to take charge again, be specific and lead this whole farce so he could close his eyes and not look. That didn’t seem like it was happening, so he leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn’t a particular skill of his; he always thought too much about what he was supposed to do, and he could never execute it how he thought it should go in his mind. The sensation of her lips against his, pursed slighty, still wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unsettling. He had his eyes open, darting over to the side to get the fuzzy view of Judy’s face out from his eyeline. Breaths started to snort out of his nose, and his closed mouth remained unmoving.

Reluctantly he moved his hand to her waist, as he drew back his lips. He took in Judy’s face, her closed eyes and candied red lips and decided the out of focus version was preferable, leaning back in to press their mouths together, his lips slipping on the gooey gloss. He put his tongue towards his own lips experimentally, but just tasted the chemically bitter toxin of her make up.

They did this a few more times, the only real movement in the room coming every time he broke away slightly or went back into a kiss. Judy was passive, just letting him choose what to do, possibly afraid that one false move would make him jump away. It was taking so long, every kiss feeling like a prison sentence with no reprieve, just the flowery acid of her cheap perfume wafting and stinging his nose.

Finally, Judy moved her hand to his thigh, her fingers walking their way up to the waistband of his boxers. When he next leaned back, she motioned to where her touch lingered, and he nodded, probably too enthusiastically, trying to move this along quickly. He couldn’t do it himself. He was crying too much inside.

Judy shuffled closer, as Callum leaned back on his hands, the pretence for wanting to kiss her seeming redundant now things were moving on to the next stage. This would all be over soon. Just a little while longer.

Her hand pulled back the elastic of his waistband and slithered inside, confidently just grabbing his cock, fingers circling. No one had ever done this before, and it didn’t feel like he thought. He always imagined the ghost touch sparking through his body, just wanting more and more and never for the sensation to leave. Instead, her fingers made him cringe slightly, her palm cold from the cool walk back and the slight press of her sharpened nails making him want to flinch away. It felt bizarre to have someone else’s hand there; intrusive, strange and hollow.

Judy clicked her teeth and then started to gently move her hand up and down, her brow furrowed. He knew why. He wasn’t in the least bit hard; his dick shrivelled and flaccid, rebelling against the attempt to be woken by an unwelcome touch, and remaining soft, hanging fruitlessly and stubbornly refusing to act, as if the hand he’d let down there was offensive to it. As if it was waiting for the heaven and stars and he’d offered it grime and tedium.

There was silence in the room, just the low sound of the television hovering through from the lounge. Callum could faintly hear the sound of Judy’s fingers rubbing in slow movements up and down his length, her hand dry and every repetition sending a despair through his body. Time was slowing, as nothing happened. Nothing.

Her hand stopped briefly and she looked at him questioningly, searching his face for some clue for what she needed to do, as if there were a special movement that would send his blood flowing down. It was excruciating, and he couldn’t bear.

Without thinking, he swiftly removed her wrist, and pulled his boxers down. He mirrored the stance he used the other day in the shower, rubbing his balls with one hand, before furiously jagging his hand up and down his cock, firmly and tightly, his jaw clenched and breath held. The memory of icy eyes and a flash of pale skin started to come to the front of his mind, the thoughts cheerfully strolling in to help, knowing what would work.

Callum pushed them back, hurled them away with an annoyance, resenting their interference. He didn’t need those thoughts. He shouldn’t need them. He had a beautiful woman in front of him that wanted him and was willing to have him. He nodded to Judy, “Like this,” he explained, his voice barely audible, barely escaping his throat. “Do it like this.”

Callum dropped his hands to his side as Judy took over, her fist picking up speed as the nails of her other hand stroked at his balls. She kept glancing up at him, maybe hoping to see some flash of the desire in his face that was refusing to show lower down. There was nothing. His cock continued to just flop around in her hand, soft and docile, her touch feeling sore and rough against his skin, as if her palm held a layer of sandpaper.

It was humiliating and it was becoming even more so by the second. Every moment he just wanted to stop, but he kept on hoping, willing his body to awaken and set into action. It had been so easy the other day, so effortless and so overwhelming and it was only his touch that he had. Callum could feel the edge of his eyes moisten and a lump build in his throat at the rejection of his body. He hated it, and just wanted it to be normal. He just wanted it to work like everyone else’s did.

His brain finally declared defeat, telling him it was time to give up. He pulled out of Judy’s grasp irritably, tucking himself back in to his boxers, and turning away from her. He lifted his hands over his eyes, wanting to cover his face, wanting to disappear, hoping that if he couldn’t see the world, then they wouldn’t see him.” Fuck!” he exclaimed out, annoyed at himself. “Fucking fuck!”

There was a soft touch to his shoulder, a hand that in any other situation would be comforting. “Do you want to see if I can suck you off?” her gentle voice said, while she patted lightly on his arm. It was said without any hope in her tone, and certainly no desire. She knew as well as he did, they were fighting a losing battle. “You can finger me if you want?”

Callum just shook his head. There was no point even pretending. There was no hope in trying. It was over. It was done.

His hands were still tightly gripped to his face. He couldn’t look, if he did then it would all be real. Judy’s hand still lay gently upon his shoulder. “It’s alright, you know,” she said softly, and he moved his little finger just a slither so he could peek out. Her face was calm, not angry or upset. “You’re gay, ain’t you?”

Those words rattled through him. It was as if someone had burrowed into his brain, found his worst nightmare and presented it to him on a canvas. Something that was in his head, that had passed through before being caged and silenced. It was his choice, no one else’s to decide what he was or what he wasn’t. He didn’t want another name thrust at him, another label, another nickname that he hadn’t claimed as his.

“No,” he responded. It sounded tentative to his ears, crawling out of his throat with uncertainty.

Judy must have sensed the hesitation there, heard the fault in his tone. “It’s alright,” she offered, rubbing his arm a little. “You ain’t the only one around here in hiding.”

The calling out of his situation, the recognition of his concealment felt antagonistic, pointing out his weakness, ready for it to be mocked and shirked. “No!” he said, harsher and surer this time, flinging off the fingers that were trying to placate him. “I’m not like that! Just cause I couldn’t do it this time; it don’t mean nothing! It’s just a one off.”

“It ain’t just this one time either, is it?” she mumbled back, her eyes still soft, still whispering the same accusation.

“Maybe I just don’t fancy you!” he shouted, and it was thrown out to hurt and to sting. “Don’t mean there aren’t other girls I’d do.”

The comment didn’t seem to hit Judy’s face in the harsh way he imagined when he said it, and a relief washed through him. He didn’t want to hurt her.

“What about that fella in the bar?” she said, cocking her head to the side. “The one you’re always staring at. Would you do him?”

“No! I barely know him!” he replied quickly. Judy’s eyebrows raised, and he realised his mistake. In his denial he had confirmed he knew exactly who she was referring to. “I ain’t staring at him.”

“He looks at you as well when he’s not being a gobby pain in the arse,” she told him with a smile. “You’d be surprised what you can notice sitting at the end of the bar and just watching. No one even really remembers you’re there and they drop all that front when they think no one else is looking.”

Callum nodded. Judy was always perched at the bar, lips pursed around her straw, looking like she was on an endless wait. He never even thought about what she saw and what she thought. He was just like the rest of them, discounting her because she never spoke up, taking advantage of her and treating her like she didn’t have her own thoughts, her own mind and her own problems.

That raised a question in his mind. “Why’d you seem so keen to go out with me then?” he asked.

“You always seem so nice, I knew that even if you did want to fuck me, you’d treat me well,” she replied, a little sadly. “All those rumours about me, I just let them think what they want. Only some of them are true. I never wanted any of those guys though.”

“Why’d you shag them if you didn’t want them?” Callum asked, turning towards her, trying to understand. Trying to know how she managed to hide better than he could.

“Do you know Mo who works in the shop with me?” she said, and he nodded, recalling the friendly young man who always greeted him with a smile when he popped in. “We started seeing each other a bit, about a year ago. Well, you know what my mum’s like?”

Callum did. Everyone on the estate knew Maureen, an opinion for everything and a mouth that wasn’t shy about delivering them. She wouldn’t have liked Judy seeing the Khan’s youngest son. That wouldn’t have been in the plan for her daughter.

“Well his mum’s just the same, weren’t exactly doing high kicks when she found me coming out his room at five in the morning,” she recalled with a sigh. “We told them both that we ended it. We ain’t though. I’m still seeing him.”

“So all those men you been with, it’s just a front. You didn’t want none of them? Don’t Mo mind?” he asked, putting himself in the place of the man who had to hear all about the woman he loved going all over town.

“It really weren’t that many,” she replied with conviction. “Just enough that the rumours would get back to my Ma and brothers. They ain’t crazy about it either, but they’d rather I scat about than be with someone I love. Ain’t that ridiculous? Neither of us like it, but we get to be together. It’s the only way we can be together.”

“You can’t be with the person you want cause of what everyone will think?” he asked. He wasn’t sure who the question was aimed at, but when he thought about how it applied to Judy, the concept didn’t make the sense it did when it was aimed at his own head.

“That’s why I wanted to get with you,” she replied. “I knew you weren’t one for sleeping around. None of the girls have ever said a bad word against you! My mum’s always liked you, and all. I think it’s cause you got Irish blood.”

“Have I?” he asked, looking at her curiously.

Judy shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno. Or was it Scottish?” she said, trying to recall a conversation. “My mum used to go to church with your mum when they were young anyway, that’s all I know.”

Callum wouldn’t have known. It would have been before he was even born, before he was even a speck or sparkle on the earth.

“We could carry this on, you know. Seeing each other,” Judy proposed. “That way no one will ask any questions about me seeing Mo, and no one will ask any questions about you being-“

“I ain’t!”

“Alright!” she said, placing her hand on his to calm him. “I ain’t about to tell you what you are or aren’t, Callum. That ain’t my place. I just think we can help each other out, pretend that we’re seeing each other.”

He nodded. That’s what he wanted to do anyway, but his heart felt a little lighter knowing it was with Judy’s consent. That she wanted this too. “Can I hold your hand?” he asked hesitantly, just wanting to be close to someone. Just wanting some comfort and knowing that neither of them had any difference of opinion about where this was going.

She smiled and gripped on to his fingers tightly. It felt comforting. He felt seen, just a little. Just what he would let her view. “It’s a shame really,” she surmised, sitting back on the bed and crossing her legs. “You’re the only one that turned me down, but you’re the fittest one in that whole place. I was quite disappointed that you’re-“

“I ain’t!” he said looking at her with determination. “I can’t be.”

He really couldn’t.

There were nine days left until he was due back in the army. Nine whole days to spend in this place. He’d grown accustomed to this world again, trapping the other one out in the cold and pretending he couldn’t hear its howls in the dead of night.

The last few days had been uneventful, but there was a little worry taken out of his mind now he and Judy had reached an agreement. That day, they had held hands for a short while, just sitting on his bed, being a comfort for each other, knowing that they would both eventually have to go out into the world and start hiding again.

When they had left his room so he could walk Judy home, his dad gave him a grin, making a lewd gesture with his fist when the girl’s back was turned. That was progress he supposed, usually Jonno would have no qualms about doing it when she was looking. He was probably so proud and thankful that Callum was bringing a girl home on a regular basis, he didn’t want to scare her off. He wouldn’t be able to brag about the Highway prowess in bed to the lads down the pub.

There are been further off colour comments on Callum’s return though. Jonno mentioning how he couldn’t hear the headboard thumping and the springs of the bed squeaking, and Callum needed to pound her a little harder, because that’s how girls like her enjoyed it. He was half surprised that Jonno hadn’t stormed into his bedroom while they were in there, but his dad was relatively sober that night. Callum had no doubt that if he had been completely legless, he would have busted through the door to have a look at his son in action, promoting the Highway name, cheering him on and thinking nothing of the privacy of Callum or the lady he was with. That’s what he expected of his father.

He was working the lunch time shift today and he was setting up the pub ready for opening. Steve was out, and it wasn’t expected to be busy so it was just him working. There was part of him that quite liked it here when no one was about. It was silent and still, like a picture from the book, one that couldn’t do any harm though you knew atrocities once occurred there. It felt haunted and still, and he wondered what it would be like if he remained in the same spot and time moved differently. What would he see if it flickered back over years and years as events transpired around him?

It gave him a chance to really look at the room. It didn’t seem as wild, as predatory as it normally would when it was like this. Almost as if it were a sleeping animal, all the primal instinct shut down. It still bore the scars of years of pain, of debauched viciousness and uninvited hatred.

Callum let the quietness wash over him, with just the gentle and meditative clinking of the glasses he was stacking invading his thoughts. The loud creaking of the door intruded on the mellowness, and at first Callum thought it must be Steve popping back to get something he had forgotten.

When he stood up ready to greet the landlord, he stilled when he saw it was a different man in front of him, standing with his hands in his pockets and glaring soullessly at Callum.

“We ain’t open yet,” he said, though he was sure it would have been obvious. He wasn’t here to get a drink, clearly.

“We need to have a little chat,” Alan replied, coming to sit on a stool in front of the bar. He wouldn’t keep eye contact with Callum, instead choosing to keep his gaze looking at his linked fingers in front of him. “You might have thought you saw something, but you ain’t.”

Callum hadn’t seen him since that night, had only heard that one of his kids had a virus and that’s why he hadn’t been back to the bar since his birthday. It clearly hadn’t been that.

“I didn’t see nothing,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. Callum didn’t want to become a part of this, he didn’t even want to think about that night in the gents. “None of my business.”

“Good. Keep it that way,” Alan warned. It wasn’t with much conviction. The man didn’t have that. He was just a snivel who lived in his father’s shadow, providing him with the perfect son. He must feel so lost, but Callum didn’t have sympathy for him. Not while he was being threatened. “Because should anything escape from your lips, I might let it slip that it was me who caught you in there. Who’d you think people would believe?”

He didn’t have to do this. Callum wanted to just sit next to him and tell him that he wouldn’t give away his secret. But that wouldn’t work. He was too far gone. His soul had rotted too far, blackened and decayed for too long to be repaired. It was just waiting to drop off, the haggard skin giving out eventually. It would happen eventually.

“I think they’d believe you,” he confessed, before feeling a little brave. “But you, me and him would know different.”

“What’s he been saying to you?” Alan asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “It was all him, you know. I didn’t even really know what was happening. All that sambuca poured down my neck. It were just a bit of a joke.”

Callum knew what he saw. He’d been around groups of men all his life, that felt that getting their cocks out and sizing up was a bit of a joke, a bit of ‘banter’. This wasn’t that. “He ain’t said nothing,” Callum told him with a shrug.

“You know Tessa’s up the duff, again?” he said. Callum didn’t, but he wasn’t surprised. Another trophy to add to the collection, another exhibit of evidence to prove what a man he was to his father. “I ain’t gotta tell you twice. If this comes out, I’ll end you.”

Callum nodded. He wouldn’t doubt it. It wouldn’t be Alan though, but his dad and his mates wanting to beat his lips into secrecy. As if that would change anything. “Congratulations on the baby,” he replied, his tone filled with cynicism. He stared back at the man, and perhaps he could see shades of himself. A reflection in a fun house mirror. A glimpse into the future. He didn’t like what he saw.

The pub had got busier as the day went further into the evening. It wasn’t enough to exhaust him, there were no special events thankfully, but active enough to keep him on his toes. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Steve walk through the door, glad to have someone help out behind the bar and give him a break. His breathing stilled when Ben followed him in.

There was a glance in Callum’s direction, barely anything as Ben strolled to a table and sat down, waiting as the landlord fetched them both a drink. It was a business meeting, one that he knew he was supposed to keep his nose out of, but the bottles of vodka he had found upstairs worried him. You couldn’t just waltz up and start flogging knock offs on the cheap; you’d be taking someone else’s business. And they wouldn’t be happy.

Judy had finished her shift and come in the pub alone, perching again at the end of the bar with a vodka and cranberry faithfully in her hand. He liked having her there now that he wasn’t worried she was trying to get him into bed. They’d come to an agreement, one that was mutually beneficial. She’d make herself noticed at the bar, and then she’d leave with Callum so she could slip away with her boyfriend. Later in the week, she’d come over to his flat so they could sit in his room while his dad was in the lounge, gloating at his son’s ability to hook up with a woman. As if it were some laudable achievement.

“He’s staring at you again,” she whispered, as Callum slipped a fresh glass of drink in front of her. “Your mardy stalker. Every time you go to serve someone, he can’t take his eyes off you.”

She was probably exaggerating. She was on her forth drink and he was a little worried that she wouldn’t be sober enough to get her to Mo at the end of the night. He spared a glance over to Steve’s table. Ben wasn’t looking, just in deep conversation while the landlord chatted on.

“Here,” she said, beckoning him closer before grabbing his chin. “Let’s give him something to stare about.”

Before he could know what was happening, Judy’s lips met his in a kiss. It was sloppy and tasted of sharp berries, but it would certainly be noticeable if anyone was looking.

As he pulled back, he gave a glance, a small natural one as if he was just moving his head. He was looking. He saw. Callum gave a silent cheer to himself, as Judy grinned at their success, before stopping and thinking about why they were celebrating. Why was he so concerned on making this man jealous? Perhaps that’s the word he had been looking for all along. Jealousy. That’s what floored through his veins; he was envious of what others had and what he wanted.

As the night grew older, he knew he had to take out the rubbish that was overflowing from the bin. When Steve came behind the bar next, he motioned to the bag. The landlord agreed to take over for fifteen minutes; the bar was emptying out a little more now, and Callum hadn’t had a break for hours.

As he pushed open the fire exit door, the breezy chill hit his skin like a veil, encasing his face. The soft soles of his shoes still clinked down the rickety external staircase as it rocked precariously to and fro. He quickly deposited the bag in the wheelie bin down the ally, before going to lean back on the wall. The sound of the traffic stirred off in the distance and the light was dimming early in the sky, making everything seem faded, like a piece of unlit scenery at the back of a stage.

His eyes fluttered shut, the strain of hours of performing, plastering a smile on and saying his lines in the correct place, taking its toll. The crunch of the door startled him a little, but he didn’t open his eyes when he heard heavy boots clunking rhythmically down the metal stairs. He didn’t need to. He knew it was him. How did he always know it was him?

“I think your little girlfriend’s getting lonely,” he said, his voice nearby, but still achingly distant. Not in reach, not in touching range. “You set a timer to peck her on the cheek every few minutes, do you?”

“What do you want Ben?” he replied, finally opening his eyes. Callum couldn’t quite see him from here. The other man was still in the shadows, still lurking in the wings.

He stepped forward a little now, just a touch into the light. “What? You’re allowed to come spy on me, but I ain’t on you?” he scoffed. “That don’t seem fair after you got a good eyeful.”

It was another reference that just cut too close to the bone, just scraping the chalky surface. “What’s this really about?” Callum asked, his intrigue fighting with his tortured body and winning a round. “Why don’t you just leave me alone? I’m sorry about that night in the gents, but you got what you wanted didn’t you?”

Ben looked at him curiously, like a panther, sparky and intelligent; respectful of his prey but still ready to pounce. “What did I want? Enlighten me.”

Callum sneered at the fake obliviousness. “I think it’s clear what he was doing to you,” he replied, though he tried not to focus on the act. He tried not to picture the image that swirled and enticed. “You got a bloke with a wife and two kids drunk enough to do that to you, so I’d say that was a victory in your eyes.”

He didn’t move when Callum said those words, not even the width of an angel’s hair. He just stared, and his mind must have been silently clattering. “Is that what you really think?” he said finally, the words sounding bruised when they escaped. “Or is that just what your little friend told you happened.”

“He ain’t my friend,” Callum clarified, trying to distance himself from that future ghost.

Ben took quick, stalking strides forward, so there was almost no distance now. He had come into the centre stage and was ready to play his part. “You want to know what really happened?” he asked, and Callum could tell from his tone that he was going to find out whether he wanted to or not. “I went down those stairs to leave. I weren’t exactly in the best of moods after I’d had a telling off from you and the dolly bird, then had to watch while grown men tried to stick their prick into a plastic inflatable while engaging in a conga. He followed me down, whispered what he wanted to do to me and then took me into the gents. Do you really think I begged him to suck me off?”

Callum shook his head, no words wanting or willing to make their way past his lips.

“I was blind drunk, horny and I had someone willing to blow me right there and then,” he explained, rolling his eyes, though Callum wasn’t sure at who or what. “As gagging for a bit as I was, he really weren’t doing much for me and frankly I was hoping he could wank himself off quick enough for me to just go home. I weren’t really getting anywhere. Well, not until you walked in. Seeing your lips stiffened me up a bit.”

“Stop,” Callum whispered in a warning. It was too much. It was all too much.

Ben moved a little closer, and rubbed one finger down gently on Callum’s wrist. Breathing in at the touch, he could smell a faint tinge of aftershave, woody and full of earth and vanilla and it hit his palette like a craving he didn’t know he had. “Didn’t you like what you saw?” he muttered, softly but with a barbed edge that was capable of cutting. “Or did you like it a bit too much?”

Callum stepped away. He didn’t want this. Or perhaps he couldn’t want this. No, it was that he shouldn’t want this. It was all circling around in his brain like a spinning top, the blurry thoughts making him nauseous, not knowing what choice he was supposed to stop on. “Don’t touch me!” he warned. “I ain’t one of you!”

Ben just continued to smile, like the whole situation was a joke and only he knew the punchline. “What you think one touch from me is capable of turning you?” he said, leaning against the wall, refusing to move. “I’m good, but I ain’t that good. I’m not some kind of gay wizard.”

“Why don’t you just leave me alone?” he asked, and it was the question that most confused him and one he needed answering. Yet, he knew he didn’t want to hear it. “I ain’t never done nothing to you! I was happy before you turned up!”

“Happy?” Ben chuckled. “Happy? You’re on leave from the army, you could go anywhere in the world and you choose to dump yourself in this shithole? How can you possibly be happy with thugs for relatives, idiots for friends and a bimbo for a girlfriend? Some stupid tart that can’t see that getting with you is just gonna break her!”

“Don’t talk about her like that!” Callum replied, not wanting to betray his friend. “You don’t know her!”

“I know girls that are like her! I’ve known girls that were like her,” Ben replied, stuttering slightly, almost with sadness. “You’re putting yourself right in the middle of this ten ring circus. What you hiding from?”

Callum shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it, and he wouldn’t reveal himself willingly to anyone. “I ain’t. You don’t belong here. You don’t know what it’s like.”

Ben wouldn’t relent though, he was gnawing and gnawing away and wouldn’t let go until he was through the bars. “Why’d you bring yourself to this place to hide? What’s your secret, Callum?”

With that last question, Ben grabbed on to his arm firmly, and it was too much. The intensity and conviction of the touch was too much. It burned; it passed fire from Ben’s hand to his body and it spread and accelerated as if being doused in fuel, until his whole being was engulfed in flames. They exploded kinetically and forced through his body like a fireball, as he clenched his fists around the smooth leather jacket and hurled Ben back, the air whipping around them until he heard a thud and he could force him no further.

“Leave me alone!” he spat out, his lips inches from Ben’s face, as his bruised fist pounded the wall right next to his head with every syllable. He didn’t flinch, not even a little, and that just fired up Callum even more. This thunder pouring out of every vessel, clattering hungrily through his body, the whirring and screeching of his thoughts screaming and wailing relentlessly as every muscle in his body tightened and tightened, vacuuming out every thread of calmness. Everything was taught and ready to explode, as all he could see were these eyes before him that he wanted to fall into. These eyes that were both luring him in and stabbing him away with every blink. “I hate you.”

There was a small twitch then with that statement, words which could punch where fists never could. Bens cheek flinched and jaw set, searching for more meaning and more explanation. That was until his eyes suddenly glanced down. When they returned, there was no confusion set there, no further explanation needed. They looked clear, a haughty relief and knowing sparkle being thrown out at him.

“Mate, I’m pretty certain what I can feel against my hip ain’t hate,” Ben replied, a little chuckle coming out, before he jutted his chin, celebrating his victory. “Guess again.”

It was like someone had punctured all the anger out of Callum then, like the twisted chain of a swing in the park, twirled and twirled tightly, until it was let go, and then it spiralled back round, quicker and quicker. It thrust him back away from Ben, his feet staggering and wobbling on the concrete, as he cursed his body. He had been so consumed with his anger, so distracted, that his mind was free to act on its thoughts. It was free to feel and to want.

“It ain’t nothing to do with you!” he called back, holding his arm outstretched, as though keeping the distance between them would prove his argument. He daren’t glance down at his jeans, he could feel his want, he could sense his craving. “It don’t mean anything!”

Ben huffed out a laugh, as he leaned back against the wall. He didn’t move any closer, Callum knew he didn’t need to, he felt his point was made. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but that don’t make it true,” he replied, his tone a little softer. “You can stand on the roof and shout it out to the stars, but wishing something don’t make it happen.”

“I decide who I am!” he shouted back. “Not them, not my brother and definitely not someone like you!”

The anger was still there, lingering and trying to fight back. It was being pushed aside by the shame though, the embarrassment of being caught looking, and the guilty secret of enjoying been seen back.

“Someone like me?” Ben replied, pushing himself up off the wall. “You don’t know the first thing about me! You’re just some closet case who’s too much of a coward to say boo in case the thugs around him notice. I know your secret, Callum. You can’t hide from me.”

“What are you hiding from, Ben?” he said, pushing back, getting closer again, feeling drawn and pulled in that direction despite himself, his feet moving without his permission. “Why you knocking about here if you hate it so much? I ain’t the only one with secrets!”

There were only inches between them then, their bodies compelled together while their minds tried to repel. The sun had set now, gone to hide behind the horizon and peek out at their liaison as it settled in its slumber. The moon had no such shyness. It shone bright and proud in the air, spotlighting their forms, and glowing encouragingly.

“I don’t hate everything here,” Ben replied, his voice soft. His eyes were darkened, ashes fluttering in them, threatening to rise. He reached up to Callum’s arm again, fingers settling and twiddling with a stray thread from his t-shirt. They tugged loosely, just a little, almost in two minds whether to pull and see if it would all unravel. “Some things are too good for this place.”

It was close, that thread, to just crumble and let go of its tight hold. Just one small tug and everything would collapse. He could feel Ben’s nails tickle the hairs of his arm, as if they were a million nerve endings that electrified and crackled the small shocks into the core of his body. One moment, one small yank and everything would fall apart. “Is that what you said to Alan?” he asked, his treacherous mind sabotaging itself; not able to back off on its own accord, so needing the push to come from elsewhere. “Is it just fellas with girls you go after?”

Ben dropped his grip on the thread, and its what Callum had wanted with his comment. It’s what he thought he wanted. He stepped back out of the moon’s glow, back into the darkness of the still alley, this faded scenery where their story was set. “What’s exactly bothering you, Callum? Is it that I had a bloke, with a wife and sprogs, down on his knees?” Ben said, tilting his head, the darkness making his features seem tortured and brutal. “Or are you just pissed off that it weren’t you?”

Ben had turned the comment back on him with ease, shoving and hurling back with a notation of the pain that he recognised. Callum hated that his masks crumbled in his presence, hated how his real face was seen and how there was nowhere near to hide.

He hated it. And he hated him. Only he didn’t. Whatever this was, it wasn’t hate. Whatever this was, he needed to get away from it.

Callum did what he always did, the one action he could control, the one solace he had left and the last card he could play. He ran.

Backing up and away, further into the darkness, his knees started to rise as his feet pounded the pavement.

“You can’t keep running away, Callum!” Ben’s voice called out. “It will catch up with you!”

Perhaps he couldn’t keep running forever, he thought as the town blurred past him as his breath laboured out. But he only needed to do it for a week. Just one more week, and he would be away from here. One more week and into a different place he’d want to run from.

He couldn’t ever stop running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @blueangel0909 on twitter
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> @moodyblueangel on tumblr
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> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	7. The Changing Room

“Fuck off ref, that cunt was three foot from the ball!” Chunky bellowed out, gesturing obscenely behind the referee’s back. “Perhaps if that fat belly didn’t stop you from following the play up the pitch, you would have seen that toss cloth go knackers first into our player! He had his studs up, for fuck’s sake, Davey!”

As the official turned around to get his cards out of his pocket, it was clear he had lost control of the game. Callum sat on the saturated grass, pulling his sock down and rubbing the back of his shin where the clear reddened imprint of the circular studs were branded on to his leg. The rain fell around him in large, globbing blobs, every drop feeling like a berating tap on his body. His kit was already drenched through with the torrential weather, clinging to his body, chilling his skin with its cool suction. He roughly wiped off the larger clumps of sticky, sloppy mud that coated his shorts before brushing his hand on the slippery grass to clean his fingers.

The referee was still waving the yellow card in Chunky’s face, but was clearly too nervous to dispense the red even though the player was still verbally berating him. Finally, the official seemed to sense he was losing the battle, carding the player on the opposing team before signalling for play to continue. “Halfway, get up off your arse! Sitting there nursing your leg like a Millwall ponce!” Chucky gritted out over to him. “If you’re waiting for your mum to come kiss it better, you’ll still be down there when they take you away in a box!”

Callum pulled his sock up roughly. No matter how bad the jibes usually got, he could take them. He expected what was coming. He didn’t like them, and every one of them was like someone had taken a searing iron to the lining of his stomach, but he expected them. They were never usually about his mother though. That didn’t happen.

He suspected that perhaps when she’d left there had been a few remarks, but Jonno and Stuart had probably got whiff of them. He imagined that they would have warned that if anyone else spoke of her, that person would next see their tongue when they were expelling it out of their arsehole. Callum wasn’t even allowed to talk about her, or mention her and certainly not allowed to ever ask questions. He remembered the one time he tried. There was still a small red mark on his ear that stung and wept in the heat all these years later.

Once, he had overheard Stuart. He implied that at one point their mum had been working on a knicker stall down the local market. Callum used to go there sometimes, bunk off school, find a doorstep and just sit and wait, while staring at the market and hoping. He never saw her, if she had ever been there in the first place.

Callum started to jog up the pitch, running off the aching pressure still building in his leg. It died down after a moment, but he suspected that was more to do with the anger he felt at Chunky’s comment. He told himself not to let it get to him, he was going back to the army tomorrow and he wouldn’t have to listen to any more of their knockdowns. The voice in his head reminded him that he would be under different scrutinising eyes when he returned there, but pretending for now served him well. He would face that cracking bridge when he got to it.

That little dig though, was like throwing another bottle on to a pile. Just building and building, like one movement would cause them all to smash or roll away. Callum put it all into the game, sprinting faster and faster down the wing with each pass, elbowing the puffing midfielder off the ball, and sliding for tackles that he knew would hurt if they made contact. The rain continued to spray down in a constant brace until the referee blew the final whistle, trundling off the pitch before he’d even removed it from his mouth.

It was then that Callum noticed. Standing on the touchline were just two spectators. In most matches, they wouldn’t get many people watching. It was just a Sunday league team; they may get someone from the pub stopping by every now or then, or some passer by stopping to watch, but that would only be when the sun was beaming from the sky. Days like today, when the heavens opened with wrath and thunder, the side of the pitch would remain empty apart from those accompanying the teams.

He could make them out clearly though, even though the water drops were saturating his eyelashes and waterlogging his lids. Steve was there, wrapped up in his raincoat, a large umbrella perched over his head. It was rare for the landlord to stop by a match, especially when it was raining so heavily and he usually always set up for Sunday lunchtime at the pub.

It was the man next to him that caught his eye even more. Hands firmly in his pockets and leather jacket collar up, staring right at him, was Ben. His head was a little covered by Steve’s umbrella, but his hair was slicked to his head as the rain cascaded there and down onto his face. Callum slowed his footsteps a little, the other players quickly jogging to the touchline and into the changing rooms. He didn’t know what to do. Whenever he walked into the pub, there was always the expectation that Ben could be there. He was ready for that. It seemed strange seeing him out of that environment. He never thought Ben fit into the pub, but he seemed to stand out in the rest of the world too, like a rose in the artic.

Callum didn’t have to worry about speaking to him, as both Ben and Steve turned around and headed to the car park, approaching Steve’s new Range Rover. He wasn’t ready to go into the changing room just yet though. He knew all the other guys would notice he was deliberately hanging back, but he’d rather they speculated than knew why. He worried that they would have noticed him looking at Ben, or they would mention his name and his presence at the match, and he wouldn’t be able to hide his reaction.

The rain was heavily bouncing off the surface of the pitch now, making it feel like walking through a waterfall. Nigel was still standing at the edge of the pitch, cigarette barely burning in one hand and the other holding a sodden tabloid over his head. Callum gave him the nod, signalling that he would help him move the goalposts back. Anything to delay his return to the changing room for a few more minutes.

By the time they had dragged the equipment back, Nigel stopping to light another smoke half way through, puffing away as he cleared his flem into the rain, Callum thought it would be safe to go get changed. As he entered the room, he could see that most of the team had been quick to dress and had left already, the space stinking of earthy mould, and soaked sweat.

He nodded to the final player that was leaving, trying to ignore the look behind their eyes. Perhaps he imagined it, the way that everyone looked at him as though he’d clambered down from a different planet; a different world that was alien and distant to them.

Callum’s muscles ached from the intensity of the game. His whole body was tired, drained beyond exhaustion. It was unbearable to carry around the weight of his mind sometimes. It felt like he was constantly being pulled down, like someone waking you every time you dozed off for a second. He slowly rolled off his drenched clothes, bits of mud and broken grass falling onto the stained tile.

Staggering to the shower, he took a spare set of socks with him, throwing them on the side wall. There was no point getting clean and having to traipse back to his bag on the dirty floor with bare feet.

He was barely under the shower for a few minutes, his mind just blanking, thoughts twirling and fluttering around his head, but none of them landing. He didn’t even remember washing, but he noticed he was clean and turned off the water. He slipped on the socks he’d placed down, and went to grab his towel. It wasn’t there.

Callum could have kicked himself with his now soggy socks. He’d left his towel in his bag. He was at least grateful that none of the other lads were in the room. The pure embarrassment of having to parade through the room naked would be too much. All the other players did it, without even caring, but he knew they would sense a weakness, with even the tamest of barbs stabbing sharply.

He slowly started padding towards his bag, combing his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. His mind identified that there was something quite right, that there was an intrusion in the room, something in a place it shouldn’t be as he was pushing back the strands with his hand. It wasn’t until he lifted his head up though, that he registered what was different about the space. Ben.

Thankfully, his body took over while his mind collapsed in shock, his feet sliding and slipping to quickly taking him back behind the wall. It was like heat radiated onto his air-cool skin almost instantly, the awkwardness and humiliation pounding his body with the same speed as his heart. “What are you doing in here?” he called out, almost impressed that he could form words at all. “Go away!”

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought of Ben since their confrontation in the alley a week ago. Everything about him had shattered away for a second that night. After a lifetime of covering up, he’d let himself slip, naked and bare in front of someone. He’d always complained to himself that no one had seen the real him. Now he’d let the mask down in front of someone, and it was invigorating to be viewed, but also devastating. Something which he’d kept close to him, protected and not even acknowledged by himself. Someone else knew.

Callum didn’t know if he’d done it on purpose, the betraying thought had crossed his mind. He certainly blamed himself for it. He hadn’t known how he had felt so separate from his body. He didn’t know what he wanted to happen.

“It’s alright, I’ve turned around!” the voice called back, the humour in it evident. “You can stop hiding like a blushing maiden.”

Callum peaked out behind the wall, satisfied that Ben had his back to him, before dashing towards the changing bench and quickly pulling out his towel and wrapping it around him. “What are you even doing here?” he repeated, tucking the edge of the material in securely and sitting down.

“Well, I just came along to the match to see a few good balls. Got a little more than I bargained for!” he said, and Callum shook his head. He wasn’t even facing forward and he knew Ben was smirking. It felt strange not seeing his expression, and it surprised him how he relied on it. His mind rewound back those few moments when he had caught a glimpse of Ben’s face when he got out the shower. He had looked genuinely shocked, the surprise bringing a youthful sincerity out in his face. There was something else there as well, something he recognised. “Though ‘little’ doesn’t seem to be an accurate description. Saw you take quite a blow out there.”

“Stop it,” he said, but it was half hearted. There was mischief in Ben’s voice, and it was enticing. “Why you really here?”

“I told you, I came to see the game,” he replied. Now Ben had his back to him, Callum could look at him without being noticed. It felt illicit and forbidden, like he was taking advantage for his own gain, and he wasn’t even sure what that was. It was exciting. “Steve wants me to sponsor the team, get you all a bit high profile, draw some business into the pub. Can I turn around now, please? This is ridiculous.”

Callum nodded, though it wasn’t until Ben turned to face him that he realised he hadn’t confirmed it out loud. “We’re a Sunday league team, not exactly riding high in the Bundesliga,” Callum remarked, playing with the edge of the towel. He glanced up at Ben, whose face was caught in a frown. “You have no idea what that is, do you?”

“Riding high in the Bundesliga? Not a clue but I’ll give anything a try once if you’re up for showing me,” he admitted, smiling, before turning his eyes away slightly. “Are you going to get dressed, or are you just going to continue to advertise the goods after giving me a tasty sample?”

Callum shifted slightly in his place, aware of his body and aware of the proximity of the gaze. The room became very small and the situation felt like a place that was distant from reality. This didn’t feel like it was something that should happen. When you spent your whole life having expectations pass you by, it was a punch in the gut when one ran into you out of the blue. Callum knew it sounded strange, but getting dressed in front of someone seemed more personal than getting undressed, or even sitting here with just a towel. It was more intimate.

“Why you here?” he asked again, the same question being almost the only thing coming from his mouth. The only question he could pose and the only one he wanted answering.

“See if I could catch you in all your glory! And socks apparently,” he replied. He smiled affectionately. “Actually, that was just a bonus. I came to see if you were alright.”

“I’m fine,” Callum said, and he started to pull his clothes out of his bag, unfolding his t- shirt. It was his standard response to that question. He didn’t ever remember a time he’d offered a different reply, a truthful one.

Ben nodded, and then perched across from him on the bench. “I’ve been there you know,” he said, softly, chewing at his lip slightly. His hair was still damp and hanging loose and relaxed against his head. “Trying to hide who I was, scared to come out.”

“That ain’t me,” Callum replied firmly, pulling his shirt over his head, now glad he had something to do so he didn’t have to look Ben in the eyes. “I ain’t scared.”

“I know it ain’t easy, trust me,” he said, trying to placate with his tone. “But you can’t go on lying, Callum. I was the same, when my family found out I was gay-“

“That ain’t me!” he stated, pulling on his jeans under the towel. “I get you’re trying to help, yeah? I really do, and I ain’t got nothing against you being ‘that’, but it’s not who I am.”

“You mean gay?” Ben asked, and his voice turned from the gentle tone, to something harsher that matched Callum’s mood, “Gay is what you mean when you say ‘that’, right? Just because you don’t say it out loud, it don’t make it disappear! It’s not like chanting out Bloody Mary into a mirror. If you say you’re gay three times and click your heels, a pride parade don’t suddenly burst through the door, hand you an inaugural dildo and chuck some rainbow confetti over you.”

“I’m not having the discussion, Ben!” Callum said, the word ringing out in his ears, the one he refused to think about. “I’m going back to the army tomorrow, I just want to enjoy my final day here.”

“Fuck! How bad is it there, if this is a place you enjoy?” he replied, gripping his head in his hands. He looked frustrated, and his temper seemed like it was building. “You think you’re just gonna toddle off back to being a soldier and you won’t fancy blokes no more?”

“You don’t know anything about it! You don’t know what it’s like there!” he said, shoving up everything into his bag. It was unlike him not to make sure it was perfectly folded. “I ain’t doing this.”

“Why do you think it will be any different there? They’ll be blokes to fancy there too,” Ben replied, trying to move so he was in Callum’s eyeline. He deliberately didn’t stay still. “Plus you got them all sugar coated in a uniform. Not exactly going to make it easier to ignore, when there’s some fella eyeing up your big bayonet. There really been no one that tried to cuddle up in the trenches?”

“I ain’t talking about this!” he shouted back, the comment too close to the wound. He grabbed his kit bag. “I ain’t you, and I don’t wanna be!”

He walked about the changing room, the rain still beating down harshly. It felt like it would never stop.

There was a celebration of sorts at the pub for his last day. At least that’s what Stuart called it. In reality, the same people that were there most Sundays were jammed and bulging into their seats, warm beer layered in glasses, with spit-white froth dribbling down the sides.

There wasn’t much mention of Callum’s leave ending, though there were a few drinks passed around for their win at the match that morning. Any excuse really to knock back a few more pints than normal.

“I keep saying that Davey Titch has got more chance of spotting a foul with his arsehole than his face!” Chunky exclaimed, regaling the pub with stories from the morning. “I like the fella, but he’s got the eyes of a bat and he can barely lift his feet off the floor, dragging that saggy lump of lard around. And I don’t mean his bird Susan either!”

Dogger shook out a spluttering crackling snort, hacking into his crusty dry palm. “He was like that at school as well!” he commented, elbowing Alan in the ribs, as if that made his point. “David Big Tits is what we called him! They used to sag lower than old Mrs Joseph’s the cleaner, and she used to mop the floor with hers!”

“Now it’s just his belly he has to drag around with him!” Alan remarked, as the men around him bobbed with laughter. Callum hadn’t seen him since they had the conversation the other week. Alan had slipped him a glance as he walked in today, almost in warning, and continued to slouch back with the rest of them, laughing along. If only they knew.

Callum’s attention was barely on the group though. It hadn’t been since Ben strolled in ten minutes earlier and perched at the bar. Steve seemed surprised to see him, handing over a whiskey and giving him a nod.

When Callum used to imagine that Ben was here for him, it felt stifling, his airway being compressed and just the thought banging against his chest, trying to thunder out. It was one of his daydreams though, one of his follies and they never, ever ended up being true. This was worse, knowing deep down that he was here for him. He had to be, perched on his seat, swivelled towards Callum, and not even pretending to look away.

Sitting with the rest of them though, including his brother and his dad, made Callum feel like there was a spotlight on him. It was like he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe or even think without fearing they would spot him, that he would be called out and he wouldn’t be able to hide it. This. Whatever this was. Whatever was happening that he couldn’t just shove to the back of his mind anymore. The plates were slowing down and it was becoming harder to run around and spin them before they fell and crashed.

Ben looked at him now. As the sun bounced a ray off the shining mahogany bar, lighting a little yellow path from his stool all the way to Callum’s chair. The light outside reflected a multi-coloured arch onto the windows now the rain had cleared.

“I don’t know why you just don’t get a job down Burger King, Halfway,” Chunky called out, his weedy body shuffling in his chair at his pride at the jibe in his head. While Callum had been looking at Ben, the conversation had moved on, and unfortunately it was to him. “If all you’re gonna do is shove some food in a pot, I’m clueless as to why you’d want to go all the way to some desert to do it!”

“He does more than that, don’t you, Bruv?” Stuart pipped in. There were times that he could swing for his brother, and his behaviour. Other times, it was like he was the only person in the world who would support him. It was exhausting though, trying to second guess his moods. It shouldn’t be that tiring. “He’s a trained soldier!”

“The army ain’t what it used to be,” Dogger commented, taking a sloppy lap of his beer. “They used to give a solider a gun and send him off, rations in a tin and the memory of porking a bird if he were lucky! They’re basically on a tax payer payed jolly nowadays!

They all mumbled their agreement, and it angered Callum. None of them had served. None of them knew what it was like.

“Tell me about it,” his dad piped in. “None of those forces are a patch on what they used to be. They ponce about with their namby pamby rules and regulations. On some quiz show on the telly the other day, they had this fella from the army, right? This silly tart of a host was giving it all the yap, asking him questions about his family. Bold as brass, he come out and talked about his husband! Fucking husband! Before all these lefty snowflakes had their way, he would have been dragged outside and shot on the spot, and bloody right! How is it fair on all those proper men in the army to have some bent sicko like that around them?”

“Full of that lot now!” Alan said, jutting out his chin, as if he promoted some dominance. “First, they thought it was alright for birds to be let in, and now they’ve got batty boys mincing around! God forbid there were an actual war, not just some backwards twats blowing each other up. All we’ve got is an army full of tarts and pansies.”

“Well, I like a lie in and khaki ain’t my colour, but I might have to stumble upon a recruitment van if I’m on a guaranteed promise.”

As Ben’s voice rang out across the pub, it was like every head turned to look his way in sequence. A heard of sheep, hearing the cry of a wolf. Their brows were furrowed and their lips half open to comment. They looked at him, examining him, wondering if the howl could have come from the man before them. Not quite believing that one of them could be an outsider, even though the fleece disguise was slipping and silvery fur had started to shine through. All of them were looking and examining. All except Alan.

“Come off it, mate!” Dogger cried out. “Look at you! You ain’t a fag! You don’t look nothing like one.”

There was a pause then, a crossroads for Ben where he could play it off as a joke, and they’d believe it. They’d believe him. The corner of Ben’s mouth quirked up. He wasn’t afraid of telling them, he wasn’t worried. It was almost like he’s been holding out, stalking and waiting for this moment. Like he had something to prove, though Callum wasn’t quite sure it was aimed at the men in front him. They seemed like a decent proxy though.

“Silly me, I sent my decent feather boa out to get a good plucking,” Ben smirked, leaning his chin on his hand. “Relax boys, I ain’t about to pounce on you. Not unless you ask nicely of course.”

Callum looked towards his dad first, his eyes screwed up so tightly and his mouth formed into a pursed scowl. “You mean to say, you prowled in here without letting any of us know,” he spat out in Ben’s direction. “What, you seeing how many you could turn? Ain’t your lot got enough of your own bars to go into?”

“I come in here to have a drink, and do a bit of business,” he said back. If he was feeling at all intimidated by the situation, it certainly didn’t show on his face or in his body. “There’s hardly a decent showing for me to cop off with, even if I was game.”

“Look we don’t have no problem with what you do on your own time in your own home,” Stuart said, though several of the men scoffed at that. “Just keep it out of here, eh? This is a family pub.”

Ben sat up a little straight at that comment. It was almost like he was looking for a fight. “Family?” he questioned. “See, now that’s where you got me all confused, lads. Because since I been coming here, all I’ve heard is which bird you’re screwing and which fellas you think like it up the jacksy.”

“Hey! Kids come in here sometimes!” Prawny, a dull headed lad even younger than Callum, piped up. “We want it to be a safe place. And our women come in here, and all!”

“I don’t think our birds are going to be a problem, do you?” his brother Scampi responded, smacking him round the head.

“Look at you sticking up for the queer,” Alan remarked towards the young man. “You fancy yourself a bit, do you Scamp?”

While the men bickered between themselves, Callum looked towards Ben, he winked at him, and it was like everything else faded away. Just the dark ruby red of Ben’s shirt filling his eyeline. Callum couldn’t help but admire his bravery. Worship it, and revere it. It was so mesmerising, this pure show of anger and courage, of heart and intelligence. He’d met some good people in his life, ones that meant the world, but Ben was something else. He was from a different place; one that seemed to mean everything.

Without even saying a word, Ben lifted himself off the stool, and disappeared through the door. Gone. It was such an easy action, and one day he feared it would be the final one. He would drift off into the night and not return.

“Oh, pissed off has he?” Chunky remarked, once they had all stopped arguing and noticed Ben had left. “Ain’t surprised, probably knew he’d get a battering.”

“Well he couldn’t have got too far,” Jonno said, he cheeks reddening. “I ain’t having the likes of him come in here and ruin my boy’s leaving do.”

Callum got into a panic as his dad started to get out of his seat and head towards the door.

“Here, Jonno,” Steve called from behind the bar. Callum was glad he was there. He wasn’t exactly friends with his boss, but he was reliable and fair. He did business with Ben, and the men were likely to listen to him. “Leave it out, yeah?”

“Mate, you’re the one that let that freak into this place!” his dad said, resting his hand on the bar, thankfully stopping his pursuit. “I thought you were always alright. You really telling me you’re fine with someone like him in your boozer?”

Callum sat up hopefully. It was a pipe dream, but maybe if someone like Steve, who was well respected and well liked, could vouch for Ben, then there was a smithereen of hope. Perhaps he could talk the other men around, or at least make them accept him even if they never like him.

“I think he’s an abomination.”

Everything stopped at those words. Steve said them so casually, as if they were nothing, as he collected some glasses. “The only reason I let him in the place is because I need him for business. Trust me, it makes me sick that a fella like him keeps waltzing in here and sitting down like he’s one of us, but I gotta put that aside. Don’t want him getting whiff and taking his business elsewhere.”

“Steve, mate, I know you’re trying to provide for your family,” Jonno replied, “But if your old dad could see, you know he’d be spitting kittens! He’d never have had a bloke like that in here for a second, let alone make him part of this pub! He’d have strung him up from the nearest lamppost before cutting off any dangling bits, just to teach him a lesson.”

“Well if he ain’t gonna use them properly, what’s he need them for, eh?” Alan commented, the chuckle he emitted not anywhere near reaching his eyes.

“He ain’t doin’ any of you any harm!” Callum called out suddenly. It shocked him, his own voice appearing in the air. He never planned to speak, he didn’t think it through. Hearing them speak about Ben like that was just sending a crack through his heart.

The men all sneered, as his dad shot him a look of disdain. It was Stuart’s face that most disturbed him though, he eyes pleading with Callum to stop and not say anything further. “Well I suppose you’re used to that lot in the army, aren’t you?” Alan replied, his fist clenched tightly on the table. “I bet if one of them climbed on top of you in the night you’d just let them do as they liked with you!”

“How’s Tessa, Alan?” Callum replied, his temper flaring up. “She weren’t too upset about how hammered you got on your birthday, was she? I bet you had to get down on your knees and beg forgiveness for that.”

Alan motioned to get up, the table shaking. “Hey, hey!” Stuart called, raising his hand. “This is supposed to be a celebration! I’ll say this though, you start on my little brother again, Al, and it won’t be the fag that has his fruit and veg cut off, that clear? Callum’s a war hero!”

There was a tension in the air between the group, but Callum knew no one would challenge Stuart. He wasn’t one for making empty threats, and most of the men staggered around here barely able to lift themselves off their chairs, let alone have the energy, strength or temper to take anyone else on.

“Alright, Stu, alright,” Dogger conceded. He was a piggish, snorty man, but he knew when he was on a losing side. He wouldn’t push Stuart, he was bright enough to know that. “All this squaring up, eh? At least we know we’re all real men here! Let me buy you and Halfway a pint, mate. Jonno as well.”

“Oh, I’m alright. I’m going to go check I’m all packed before my shift,” Callum explained, pointing towards the door. He promised he’d work later tonight and lock up so Steve could go out. He lifted himself out of the chair, avoiding Alan’s glare and slipped towards the door. His whole body contracted when Steve slapped him on the back. The knowledge that the man he respected would probably throw him out and spit on him if he knew some of the images that flew around his head, was tough to take. If someone as agreeable as the landlord thought like that, then there was no hope. Only fear.

Callum tiptoed up the stairs, aware of every creak, and every shuffle of his feet. He didn’t want to be around anyone now. It would be his last moment of silence, the final minutes that he could be by himself with his thoughts willingly. He was so caught, always so trapped between wanting to delve into the them, get lost in them and spread and evolve those thoughts into his own secret world. On the other hand though, he spent most of his waking day trying to dispel them, trying to get back to the actual world he was a part of and fruitlessly attempt to fit into that.

The lights were off, and he let them stay that way. He didn’t want anyone noticing and coming up to find him there. There was enough of a glow peeping through the curtains, waving through the room to make everything visible, the items dusky and shaded but not out of sight.

Sliding down the wall, he leaned against one of the boxes of vodka bottles, curling up his legs underneath him, trying to disappear into the darkness. He knew he had to do it now. It couldn’t wait any longer, he couldn’t pretend that other world didn’t exist any longer. It was time.

Callum pulled out the letter from his pocket. It was rumpled now, trampled and trod as if it were old and reread and loved. It made it easier to read; the fact that it could have been a past thought, that was now lost, rather than one that was very much in the present.

It wasn’t this current world though. Not on this reality where he just ignored the other one was real, thriving and bleeding and pulsing without him in it. This place was where his head and heart used to be able to protect itself by imagining everything in Helmand was just a slippery daydream. A creation in his own mind that just wasn’t true.

Looking at the date on the letter though, and the return address, it was very clear to see this was real. The ink was too set, the paper to rough under his fingers and the words too defined to deny they were a part of his life.

The paper ruffled and rattled as he unfolded it, the creases trying to resist. Callum lay it out on his jeans, ironing it out with his hand before he finally started to read.

_Dear H,_

_I bet you’re surprised to get this letter! Don’t worry, I haven’t sent a whole fleet of envelopes addressed to every place in Canning Town. I’m just as silent footed as you always say and found out where you live! Remember when I crept up on you in the kitchen that one time and you dropped that whole tray of spuds? I really hope you don’t mind, but I spotted your address on a form you had. I hope I remembered it and it’s turned up in the right place!_

_It’s right dull without you here! The others in the kitchen are a good lot, but they don’t get me into trouble the way you do! We haven’t once needed to put in an order for any extra stock because it’s ended up on the ground or you decided to experiment with the ingredients!_

_I really miss you being here. You know why, right? Don’t worry, I ain’t about to get all soft in a letter. So if you don’t know why, it can wait until you get back. I know you, I’m not expecting a response. This will be crumpled up in your trouser pocket for weeks, I bet, I only hope you remember to take it out before you wash them!_

_I’ll see you when you get back. I mean it. I’ve really missed you._

_Chris x_

Callum, gripped the letter in his hands and then read it a few times more. None of the words changed on the second reading, but he began adding meaning, placing memories and hopes into every sentence. He didn’t know what to think.

Before, he would have been able to block this all out. He would have been able to pretend that Chris’ letter was just one to a mate, a close friend and there was nothing more to it. Since he met Ben though, it was becoming harder and harder to pretend. Now, it was like every memory and moment with Chirs had come flooding back and they all held a different meaning. All those looks, those gentle touches that his friend had sent his way. He knew what they were. Deep down, he understood they were more than what they were delivered as. Callum just hadn’t been ready to accept them then. And he still wasn’t now. The only difference was now he knew what they really were, it would make it harder to ignore, to not respond and he didn’t know how he was supposed to do that.

There was no where to run to now. Here, he just kept running into Ben and every time he did, he pulled him apart further and further. He had walked in, and in a fraction of a second seen through everything about Callum, refusing to let him hide. With Chris, it was different. They didn’t fight, he never felt pressured or uncomfortable. He never pushed him, and Callum never felt his temper fray the way it did when he was around Ben. He was afraid that he’d go back to the army and every time he was with his friend, he’d just hear Ben’s voice in his head.

Perhaps he’d still be able to cope with that though. If he could deal with Ben’s voice here, if he could deal with him in front of him, and the tempting magnetic force that seemed to bubble around him, then he could cope with Helmand. He’d done it for long enough. What had happened these last few months hadn’t changed anything. He could do this.

There was just one more night to get through.

As he collected the final few glasses, he shifted his back slightly, the muscles becoming sore from the long day. He knew he should have taken it easy, spent his little bit of time inside resting, ready for leaving tomorrow. He just wanted the time to move quickly, to speed away. It felt like one of those action movies, where he was just watching the counter on the bomb tick down from ten. He was waiting for the explosion at the end.

The door creaked slowly, tentatively, like it was unsure about revealing the person behind it. Callum barely looked up. It wasn’t a surprise. He had been expecting him.

“Steve ain’t here,” Callum called across the bar, keeping his hands busy with organising the glasses.

“I know,” Ben replied quietly, making his way across the carpet. Of course he did. He wouldn’t be here if Callum wasn’t alone. He didn’t even make the pretence of sitting on a stool, instead circling round and coming behind the bar to where he was standing.

They stood in silence for a little while, waiting for one of them to speak first, to take the cue that they both knew was coming. As much as Callum knew he could no longer deny how Chris felt, even more so he couldn’t push away why Ben was always coming to find him. His own feelings felt like they were bubbling to the surface, unable to overflow for much longer. He knew.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Ben said, leaning back against the counter. It would be him that spoke first. He was someone that would always want the first and last word, would always want control. Callum didn’t want to give him it. He wouldn’t give him it. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I know you can’t rush this. I get it.”

Callum turned his head to look at him, really look in a way he hadn’t since that first time. It almost wasn’t the same face. His eyes were just rippled with blue, the water warm and soothing as they looked back at him, begging to swirl around his body. The freckles on his nose were faint, like butterfly kisses specked with flirt and freshness. His lips were rough, fractured like the petals of a light dahlia, with a harsh crimson speck on one end. The evidence of Stuart’s attack still lingering. The proof of loyalty.

He squinted slightly as his eyes travelled to Ben’s ear. “You wear a hearing aid?” he said, not able to take his eyes away. Ben looked down, trying to turn his head away from Callum’s gaze. “I didn’t know that about you.”

Ben chuckled wryly, as if thinking about a secret that Callum wasn’t included in. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Callum,” he said, playing with the skin on his finger and still looking down. “The sheer weight of some of it would just floor you, believe me.”

“I want to know,” he whispered back, his hands stopping, just holding the glass, not needing to move. “I ain’t afraid. Not of you.”

The corner of Ben’s mouth quirked into a smile and his eyes forced their way up. “Well maybe you should be,” he said. “Although it’s me that ought to be bricking it, really. I’m the one getting ten sets of evils every time I take even three steps near you.”

“They aren’t protecting me,” Callum said with a shake of his head. “They’re just scared that I’m not like them. That I’m some freak they have to put up with.”

Ben shuffled nearer, just a touch, but it prickled the air and sucked all the lightness from it. “You’re so much more than this place, Callum,” he replied. “It will take you and beat the life out of you if you let it. Don’t let it.”

Callum still didn’t move, still frozen in place and in this moment. He didn’t want time to move forward, and he didn’t want to go back. “I knew you were different when you first walked in,” he admitted, the words sliding out easily now, surprisingly so for how long he had been holding them in. For how long he had been afraid to utter them anywhere but his own head. “You weren’t like no one else, especially around here. It was like wandering through the desert and suddenly seeing a buttercup spring up. This bold piece of life that appeared in a hopeless place.”

Ben looked at him, eyes strong and focused until they began to crinkle at the sides and he let out an audible laugh. “A buttercup? Really? You’re comparing me to a pretty little flower? Aww, Callum, you are the cutest little soldier that ever did live.”

“Fuck off!” Callum retorted back, though it was hard to stop his mouth sliding up at the sides when he saw how Ben’s eyes shone and his chest compressed with a laugh. “That’s the last time I share anything with you!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he said, holding his hands up in submission, swallowing his laughter down and moulding his face back into seriousness, when Callum started to turn away. “How can I apologise? Oh, how ‘bout a song? You like ‘Build Me Up Buttercup’ right?”

“Fuck right off!” Callum said, giving Ben a little shove, though he probably wouldn’t be able to feel it as he was bent over double in laughter. Callum couldn’t stop smiling at the noise. It was the best sound he had ever heard.

There was a sudden crash, and Callum realised he’d dropped the glass he didn’t even remember he was holding. The whole container smashed into shards, where before it had glistened and shined with promise. A mere second and it broke beyond repair.

He bent down to pick up the pieces, before Ben held out his hand in a warning. “Don’t touch those-“ he started, before Callum felt a sharp pain in his thumb. “-you’ll cut yourself.”

He tutted to himself, as scarlet dripped down his hand, his burst skin stinging in the cool air. Ben was fumbling around under the counter, before pulling out a box and setting it on the top. “Come here,” he said lightly. “Callum, come on. Come here.”

He walked closer to Ben, setting his hand on the counter, as the other man ruffled around in the battered old first aid kit that had probably been lingering under the bar since the war. Ben finally found what he was looking for, peeling back the wrapping on the plaster. “How is it you can go off in the army, to some of the most dangerous places in the world, and not get a scratch, but practically slice off your thumb in some dull grotty boozer in east London?”

“Not everything leaves a mark you can see, does it?” he answered, wanting so much to tell Ben everything, to confess every break, every hit, every punch and every pain he’d gone through. All those that weren’t physical. All those that created a break in his heart and a weight in his soul. “You can’t always see scars.”

Ben nodded as he wrapped the plaster around Callum’s thumb, gently rubbing it down to stick. It was soft, his touch, something that Callum had never imagined. The slowness made it all the more intense, every tiny invisible hair on his hand standing up and prickling towards the sensation, revelling in it and begging for more.

It may have only been a few seconds, but when Ben started to trace patters over the back of his hand with his finger, he knew it was a moment he would never forget. It was like he was trying to commit every millimetre of Callum’s skin to memory just by touch alone. It was peaceful and tender, but behind his eyes he craved more, selfishly wanting this feeling over his whole body. Wanting every nerve to tingle and reach and scream with this feeling.

Ben’s thumb stopped over the fading bruise on the side of Callum’s hand, now only a dulled violet compared to the litany of colours it had been since thumping the wall in the alley last week. Instead of continuing his movements like Callum expected, Ben linked their fingers together and lifted both their hands up to his face.

Callum’s heart rowed rhythmically but powerfully, as Ben’s eyes darkened and waves of fire bellowed and swelled through them. He lifted Callum’s bruised hand to his lips, just placing them there on the blush skin. When Ben kissed the mark softly, the friction of his lips lingering the touch against his hand, Callum felt that he had finally found an answer to a question that he’d been playing over. He’d had the answer with him the whole time, he’d always known and he only just realised it now. This was the only moment in the whole of Callum’s life that had felt right.

“You need to stop doing this to yourself,” Ben said, running his lips over the bruise again, motioning to the story behind the mark. He then moved to Callum’s thumb, kissing the point above the plaster, sucking gently on the skin there for a moment before releasing it from his mouth. “There. Kissed it all better.”

There wasn’t much space between them now. They had somehow gravitated their bodies towards each other without even noticing. He could hear Ben’s breathing now, as much as his own, as he stared at him with those fire ridden eyes. He was waiting for Callum to make the move. He was waiting for him.

Fingers still linked together, Callum brought their hands towards him. He knew he was trembling, could feel it as his thumb bumped up and down against Ben’s with the sheer energy of the fear and excitement that had built, and built, and built. It was ethereal, his existence trying to burst free of his body, as if it could survive by itself. Feeling brave, perhaps more courageous than he ever had, he lifted his thumb up to Ben’s lip, stroking the healing scratch there.

Not being able to wait any further, he ran the pad of his thumb up and down Ben’s lip. They were softer than they looked, but still weathered, still lived. It was intoxicating, just this little touch, as thoughts wisped and whirred around Callum’s head, never settling, just rejoicing in their freedom. When he felt Ben’s tongue just quickly dash out and catch his skin, his thoughts stopped their whimsical playing and turned darker, the little touch focusing all the blood in his body to rush to where he needed and craved it.

Callum moved his head slowly, fingers still gripping tight and his lips made his way towards Ben’s. They were so close, the air fluttering away between them, and silence being drowned by breathing and heartbeats. They were so close, eyes locked and gripped and noses just about to brush.

A deafening creak ripped it all apart. Callum dropped Ben’s hand and took a step backwards, his breathing coming out in gasps as his head whipped around to look at the door. It was almost still. Almost. Just a small waver suggesting it had just been moved. Either way, Callum would know the sound anywhere, and knew where it had come from.

“Who was that?” he said, the fraught evident in his tone as he made his way to the bar door. “Ben! Who was that?”

Ben gave a sigh and cocked his head at Callum. “I don’t know! I weren’t exactly watching,” he replied, giving a shrug. “Probably some old bird wandered in from the street.”

“It’s midnight!” Callum replied, opening the door and looking out. There was nothing, no one in sight. “It’s hardly going to be an elderly woman on her way to her weekly shop at Iceland, is it?”

“Alright! Don’t take it out on me!” Ben replied, annoyance showing on his face. “You should have locked the door if you were that bothered.”

Callum turned around and looked at him, frustrated with how unconcerned he was about the situation. “I didn’t know you were going to do that, did I?” he said leaning against the other table, faces of everyone who had ever walked into the pub scrolling quickly through his brain, each one sending a gulp of heavy guilt sliding down his throat and into his stomach.

“Uh, it weren’t all me you know!” Ben said, scowling towards him, as a frost descended on his eyes. “Besides, nothing has actually happened yet.”

“It ain’t going to happen,” Callum remarked, the words pelting out before he could stop them, as thought they were hurled out by those monsters inside who kept him caged. “It was just a moment of madness.”

Gallons of air now rushed back between them, the moment lost and drowning. Ben walked round from the bar, sticking his hands in his pockets. Those fingers that just moments ago felt so rightly linked with Callum’s own were hidden from his view as punishment. “Fine,” Ben said, making his way to the door. “I ain’t doing this no more. I don’t need this shit from no one, not even you. Scurry back off to playing pretend in soldierland, yeah? Hopefully, I’ll never have to see you again. We’re done.”

Callum wanted to stop him. He wanted to scream and shout and block the door. He didn’t though. All those thoughts that he was being brave and courageous were just laughable. He was neither of those things and never would be. They could stick all the medals and badges on him they wanted, it didn’t prove anything. That’s not where courage came from.

As he made his way to the bus the next day, he couldn’t help but have Ben’s words repeat over and over again in his head. He said he never wanted to see him again. Every time Callum returned from leave, the risk of his job hit his mind sharply; he may not be in the most perilous division, but the danger was always there hanging over them all.

Perhaps this would be the time he never came back. And Ben would get his wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	8. The Curtain

Callum’s stop was still a few roads away, but he pressed the bell twice, staggering to get up out of his seat. It wasn’t that he was eager to be back, but he wanted the journey to be over. It was stifling on the bus, the spring air feeling more humid and close than it should have for April.

It had been two months since he had left Canning Town. Those eight weeks since that time, he had spent in hell, the torturous underworld that had tried to spit and stab away his body, his heart, his mind and his life. It was always moving there, always changing in a capricious and manipulative mood that served to punish and pain him. Every minute felt like a day. Every day felt like a damned eternity.

The step down from the bus still pinched in his side, niggled and screeched into his muscles. He had become used to it, as if it had always been there marking and biting at him, but it still caused Callum to react when it flared up, tired of being ignored. The strap from his holdall dug into his shoulder, as his feet hit the pavement. The air was a little cooler out here; the April breeze swaying through the street, ruffling and guiding.

If there was one thing that Callum could count on, it was Canning Town. The place that never changed. The street was humming today though, the people bursting on in groups, as the sun enticed them to look its way. It was a deceit though, a tactic this place was using to pull him back in, pretending to entice him with a newness and a difference. It wasn’t real, and soon enough he walked by a man vomiting into a gutter. That was where he came from. That was the real town.

The walk passed by eventlessly, just as it always did, as he reached the flat. The lift worked today, and he stood in the urine drenched casket as it shrieked and groaned its way up the building. Callum didn’t want to be here, but he didn’t want to be anywhere else either. He was lost. He was alone.

Taking a final deep breath, he knocked on the door, Stuart answering almost immediately. “Bruv!” he said, his face lighting up as he brushed his ketchup stained fingers on to his shirt. “I would have come picked you up! You shouldn’t be carrying a bag and walking around when you’re injured.”

“You don’t have a car, Stu,” he replied, as his brother enveloped him in a big hug. He was expecting it, so he could hold his breath as the knot was dragged up and down his insides. The tears started to form in his eyes at the movement. His injury had improved, but it was still there refusing to leave. “I told you when I called, anyway. It ain’t nothing, just a scratch.”

Stuart grabbed his bag from his shoulder, the phantom presence of the holdall still straining the muscles even after it was gone. He beckoned Callum into the lounge where his dad was sat with a plate resting on his leg, and a sandwich in his hand, brown sauce dripping down to his wrist and onto the Racing Post. “Dad, Callum’s back,” Stuart remarked, slapping him on the back. It rattled through him. It didn’t want to be annoyed at his brother, but he hadn’t been back long enough. The memories of the last two months were still too strong. It seemed so much harder this time, and it was taking all his strength. “He’s a hero, ain’t he?”

“You a part timer now, are you boy?” Jonno said, glaring round. It was one of those days. One of those days where the best Callum could hope for was just an unkind word. It was exhausting never knowing, always having to try and follow moods with no pattern. It was a crapshoot every time. Callum guessed that the last race hadn’t gone Jonno’s way. Perhaps if that horse had won, he would have got a reluctant hug from his father. It was the scraps and morsels he always aimed for when he was a child. “Stuart said you was injured. You look alright to me. What happened? You trip over an oven door?”

It annoyed Callum sometimes, how his dad seemed to forget he was still a soldier. He could still be put out into dangerous situations, and he could still offer to go on more. They would never say no to a volunteer. “No, I was on patrol,” he started, before his mouth tightly shut. He wasn’t going to go any further. He wouldn’t say anything else. He wouldn’t think about anything else.

Callum sat down on the side of the armchair, the faded apple green material appearing a patchy, stained, white in areas. He picked at the side, soft tired flecks coming off in his hands like pollen on a flower, staining his fingertips. He reached over to the cabinet, the knick knacks buried firmly in their layer of snowy dust. Brushing his finger along one of them, a china oval box with three roses on the lid, he lingered his hand there in thought. Sliding it open, he took out a little purple round sweet that rested in there, and popped it into his mouth. It fizzed on his tongue letting off its violet aroma onto his palette. It was chalky and fragrant, and he rolled it around in his mouth. It was comforting and familiar.

The little china box filled with sweets had been there for as long as he remembered. The flowery sweet scent was the most powerful memory he had of his mother. He couldn’t recall if it was her who had always filled the box up. Perhaps he’d just created that in his mind, but the sense was so vivid it made him feel close to her, made him wish that she were here, made him forget the abandonment. Now, he always kept them in there.

“Do you want to go to the pub, mate?” Stuart asked, still standing with his holdall in the corner of his room, smiling like an ever-present garden gnome. “Everyone will want to hear about what you done.”

“I expect you want to see that little sort of yours too,” Jonno commented, the crumbs of his sandwich flying everywhere as he spoke, and the bacon grease lubricating his lips. “Unless you injured your wotsit as well. That’s still in working order, ain’t it?”

Callum ignored his dad’s comment. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed, Stu,” he replied, stretching a crick in his neck. “I’m knackered if I’m honest, mate. Just need to catch up on some kip.”

Stuarts face fell a little, but then he plastered his smile back on. “Alright then, bruv,” he said, giving his head a small nod. “We’ll go tomorrow, yeah? I’ve got to nip out on a bit of business this afternoon anyway. Do you want me to make you a sandwich before I go?”

“Nahh, I’m just going to head in,” Callum said, getting up and giving his brother a conciliatory rub on his arm. “Thanks, Stu.”

Callum walked into his bedroom, not even bothering to switch the light on as the fading evening sun still bled through the windows. Without care, he let his holdall hit the floor before kicking off his shoes. He crawled on to the bed, his side twisting and burning. He left on his shirt. He didn’t want to even look at what was underneath it.

Here he was, back again. Laying in this bed like he had a thousand times before. It was that time again, to block out the last couple of months. To return to this world. In truth though, it had never really left him. Not this time. He’d gone to Afghanistan hoping that everything would just slip and fade away, disappear and fog like a dream, lost forever once you awaken.

It didn’t happen this trip though, and the change in his tried and tested routine had knocked him. Ben was in his head the whole time; he couldn’t seem to lose him or shake him. Every time he tried to push him to the back of his head, he just appeared stronger, breaking down Callum’s mask from the inside.

Now he was back here, and he couldn’t seem to let Afghanistan go either, or anything that happened over the last two months. Everything was imploding all around him, and nothing worked. As he lay down on the pillow, there was screaming in his head.

It hadn’t been a peaceful night’s sleep, the pain in his side waking him every few hours. He eventually managed to drift off once the painkillers he had scrabbled out of his bag had set in. It didn’t last for long, the soreness always feeling worse at night. The pain always feeling worse at night. Once, when he had finally drifted off, it wasn’t the ache that woke him. Instead, singing came blasting through the window.

It happened when you lived on an estate. You got used to people drunkenly making their way back home and their voices leaking through. When one of them started singing though, the sound just echoed throughout the buildings, every note ricocheting off every wall, every window and every door.

What Callum didn’t need last night was Staggery Pete, who would always sing Suspicious Minds, trying to mimic Elvis’ voice. He only repeated the same two lines, and they didn’t even contain the right words. He was always off key, which just seemed to shoot through complex. It took him half an hour to lurch from one side of the courtyard and into his flat door last night. That was actually quick for him. Usually, he was planted face down on the concrete every ten metres, passing out before waking and travelling a little further every hour.

Today, Callum knew he couldn’t avoid going to the pub, especially when Stuart turned up at the door with an expectant smile. Despite not receiving much sleep, he knew he could only use that excuse for so long. He couldn’t put it off for any longer.

It was like he had never been away, as The Pig came into view. It seemed so distant just a few days ago, but the muscle memory kicked in after just a few steps, and the path he had walked his whole life travelled into his legs with ease. It was like he had been captured in a whirlwind for the last few months and not sure where he should be put down.

He didn’t expect him to be there, sitting at the bar, whiskey in his hand as normal. Callum didn’t expect it. Only he did. He did expect it. He knew it.

Callum would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of Ben these last months. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, and leave him in Canning Town. It was like his mind knew that Ben didn’t belong in that place, and brought him along as a fellow outsider. For some reason, it was like a piece of gold thread was attached to their ankles, linking and binding them, with no hope of breaking the bond. Perhaps it had always been there, all their lives, hanging loosely until a Fate tightened and reeled them both closer at her whim. They were tethered now, and perhaps they would always be.

They caught each other’s gaze, and Callum wondered if he could have actually lived without seeing that look again. He would have tried, he would have pushed against the desire to look back, but in all honesty, failure would have been unavoidable. It could have been hours that their eyes were linked, and he wouldn’t have known. There was a recognition, a submission, in both their faces. Inevitability couldn’t be run away from.

He remembered the cartoons he watched when he was little. The main character, a mouse or rabbit, would scuttle away from the creature chasing it, keeping a close look behind them to see if they were being caught. Suddenly, it would run slap bang into its pursuer. It would just appear from thin are, no matter how far he ran away, no matter how quick and with how much vigour. There was only so much that could be drawn and created. There was only so much speed with which you could run.

Callum’s hand prickled. The bruise was long gone, the cut faded to only a fair scar, not visible in most light. But the skin had a memory, and it recalled the kiss vividly. It had been the only part of his body that had felt that sensation, making the rest of his body jealous and envious, needing the same feeling to be bestowed on it. The buzz from that night hadn’t worn off with time like he expected, instead it just craved another hit.

In Afghanistan, he’d sit at night in the quiet, the only time of day he was gifted with his thoughts. He played that night over and over in his head, each time with a different ending. It couldn’t be changed though. He knew that. He couldn’t change the past. He had no control over it.

Out of almost nowhere, Judy came rushing up, breaking his gaze and grabbing him in a large hug as she flung her arms around him. He wasn’t prepared for such a vigorous welcome, and it shocked his body, his side stabbing with the surprise and reeling through him with velocity. It shot through to his legs, and they started to buckle, his arm only just managing to grab onto a bar stool to keep himself upright. Callum held his hand up in apology at Judy who had moved a little away, as if it were her brute strength alone that had knocked him down.

After a moment and some deep breaths, he righted himself. Looking up, he could see Ben had got off the stool, his eyes questioning and forehead frowned in concern. His hand was gripping onto the bar, almost like a safety harness. Clinging on so his legs wouldn’t take him nearer.

Callum was surprised to see him in here, to see him among these men after their last meeting. He assumed his business with Steve was still continuing and that gave him a niggling worry on many accounts. That thought was blown away for now though, when he realised some of the regulars were approaching him, and had seen what had occurred.

“Blimey Halfway! What’s happened that’s got you staggering about like a tit on a stick?” Chunky cried. “You started to hit the bottle?”

“He’s a hero!” Stuart said, clapping him on the back. He saw it coming this time, and managed to keep the bile in his throat down and his legs steady. “Not some hobo alchy!”

“It’s fine, Stu,” he said firmly. He didn’t want to talk about this. It itched at him, like a scratch under his palm, lingering and not going anywhere. He didn’t want to talk about it. Or think about it.

“He saved some kids, you know?” Stuart replied louder, insisting on continuing. Callum had told him that over the phone, just after it had happened. He had been fraught and frantic and just wanted someone familiar to talk to.

“Everything ok?” Judy said, rubbing his arm, and then pulling him to the side and out of the conversation. He smiled gratefully to her. “I’m glad you’re back. Not glad you got blown up, obviously. But it’s good you’re here.”

“How’s everything with you?” he asked, wondering if they were still both supposed to be in a fake relationship. He assumed from his dad’s comment earlier that they were.

She shook her head a little sadly, but soon shrugged it off. “You don’t want to know,” she said, before reaching into her purse. “Oh, I got you something!”

She pulled out a little white paper bag, so thin it was almost transparent, with a perforated edge at the top. Callum took the bag curiously, and looked in. Snuggled inside, were two little sugar mice. “I know you always get some sweets when you come in the shop. It ain’t much, but I don’t get paid till a week Tuesday, so I had to boost those from the counter when Josie weren’t looking. Shoved the bag down my bra! Managed to fit three cans of cider in there one day. “

“Halfway!” Dogger exclaimed, belching into the room. “What are you doing back? You get lost on your way to Iraq?”

“Afghanistan,” he said, but it was unsurprisingly ignored. The country made no difference to them. Any place outside Canning Town was just a far off exotic land that they had no interest in.

“Couldn’t find his way anywhere!” Alan remarked, leaning on the bar casually as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked thinner, more gaunt than the last time Callum had seen him. He looked haunted. “You remember when he dribbled the ball into his own goal?”

“I was seven,” Callum replied, his temper flaring again. He was tired of being a punching bag, no matter what pain Alan was holding. “You telling me you’ve never made a mistake, Al? Never had a moment of regret?”

“What’s this then? Why you back?” Chucky said, thankfully interrupting. “You get home sick? Did you miss Judy Jugs holding you close at night?”

Dogger snorted and cackled with a pus filled hack at the comment. “That’s the spirit lad! You got to admire a man that would fly thousands of miles for a good shag!”

“He was injured on the frontline!” Stuart insisted to the group. Callum put his hand on his arm, trying to get him to stop. It would be no use.

“Hardly at deaths door, is he?” Alan said. He had become meaner now, harsher over the months. The pain brewing to the top and having nowhere else to go. “You get a paper cut?”

“He’s a hero!” Stuart insisted, looking around in confusion at the reaction around him.

“Davey’s boy still serves, don’t he? Don’t see him ditching his post to swan back home,” Alan continued. He was on a roll now. The bites becoming fiercer.

“Shut up, the lot of you!” Stuart shouted. Callum rubbed his brother’s arm. He knew he cared, and that was something. “I’d like to see you all over there! Takes after my grandad, does Callum!

“What, a rotting carcass of useless bones?” Alan laughed into his beer, as the men around him spluttered with glee.

For everyone’s sake, Stuart didn’t hear. He wouldn’t have taken that about Grandad. Alan would never say it where his brother could hear it. Even he wasn’t that stupid.

“I’m just going to go check upstairs. I think I might have left my jacket up there before I left,” Callum said, not really to anyone, though Judy nodded his way. Stuart was just getting some pints in at the bar. The thought of sitting there, listening to everyone laughing and joking, puddled through his stomach. The desire to just scream out was getting stronger, and holding it in was causing a pain in his belly.

He left the bar, the door closing behind him, muffling the sounds and sending them back in his head. The banister looked like it had been polished recently, slightly slippery on his grip, but the grimy filter on the pictures hanging on the wall dispelled the myth of change. What appeared clean, would always have a grotty secret.

The door squeaked at his return, the room still in faded darkness. It was comforting, the lack of light. The shade was encompassing and lonely, but it hid and it disguised when he needed it to. It was quiet in the dark whereas the light shone on everything; the good, but also the secrets that couldn’t be hidden.

Callum weaved his way through the room. It was full of cases of vodka, so many more than before. It dominated the space, squeezed him to the edge and boxed him in. They were impossible to ignore now. He found a corner near the back that had a little space, and slid down the wall, his knees raised in front of him.

The door groaned as it opened, but Callum didn’t jump up. He had heard the thuds of the footsteps coming up the stairs, each jolt vibrating through his body. The bottles slightly shaking in their boxes as if singing the arrival and announcing it excitedly.

That’s why he came up here today, he could admit that. He could have just gone home, made the excuse that he was tired and got out the pub, but he needed to see him without them there. He wanted to look. He missed looking at him.

He doesn’t say anything as he comes and sits next to Callum. He’s not wearing his leather jacket, the warmness in the air rendering it purposeless. They sit there in silence, mirrored in their stance, just a foot of space between their bodies. Just him and Ben.

It didn’t feel intrusive when Ben was there, like it did when Callum was with other people. It was almost like he wasn’t there at all, just a whim of Callum’s imagination. One he could tuck away and dissipate into air when he wanted. One he had control over, and could bend and sway to his will. Ben wasn’t any of those things though. He was solid blood, and lively coolness. He was unpredictable flames and startling words.

The memory of their last meeting hung between them in that space. Ben had said he hadn’t wanted to see Callum again, and here he was two months later sitting by his side. It was the same for him too. He couldn’t fight this any more than Callum could. He realised that now. They were both fighting for control, both wanting dominance here, but it belonged to neither of them. The gold thread was just becoming shorter and shorter as a mischievous goddess pulled them closer and closer.

Callum could sit here like this, in silence with Ben. There was a hint of vanilla in the air, whispering through with smoky edge of whisky and earth. He could just sit here forever, inhaling it into his lungs, filling and staining each fissure. The memory of him, the substance of him, becoming part of his whole body already.

There was the desire to speak though, just so Callum could hear his voice, to see if it matched up to his memory that he let into his mind every night when he was away. He thought it would have been easy, to just let him fade away. But he came back to him during the nights, sat there next to his bed, just like he was doing now. Reality and imaginary became mixed and confused. Everything became mixed and confused.

Even when he was with Chris, Ben was still there. Callum had tried to get him to leave. He had tried everything. It hadn’t worked. And they had left victims in their wake.

He shut down those thoughts, all those awful moments that had gone on in Helmand. He hadn’t known life could have got worse until these last few months. He just wanted to get rid of his thoughts, so he took out the screwed up paper bag from his pocket. He tore the edge, opening it up, before setting it between the space in between them. He nudged it towards Ben, offering him a gesture of peace.

Ben looked, his face remaining neutral and distant until Callum could see his mouth was fighting to remain staid. It couldn’t win for long though as his lips moved into a quirk with the sparkle flittering to his eyes. They darted to Callum’s and he could see the affection there, a brief look he’d only recognised a few times before. He’d done something that had melted Ben a little. He didn’t know what, he never did. He couldn’t do it if he tried.

Reaching out, Ben grabbed the white sugar mouse, it’s black icing eyes wonky, and an uneven number of whiskers on each side, leaving Callum with the pale pink creature. He picked it up reverently, twirling the frayed string tail in his fingertips.

He always remembered being young and going to the shop, his nose pressed against the glass counter hopefully as he passed them by, the pure sugar content making his teeth whistle with sensitivity just by looking. He wasn’t allowed to get one though; he would be berated for even asking. The closest he got was when Stuart or his dad sent him down the shop to get a quarter of Sherbet Lemons. He was allowed to have one on the way back. The bitterness was too heavy though, masking the sweetness that did exist, making the wince rattle through his body.

Callum put the mouse to his lips, just resting the head there slightly before nudging out his tongue for a gentle lick. The sweetness hit his palette immediately, rushing to his blood and cascading through his body, hitting and waking all his senses with an energy kick. His fingers held the swelled base and his tongue languidly circled the wettened top, before closing his lips around and giving it a couple of short, sharp sucks.

The staggered, deep inhale next to him pulled him out of his enjoyment, and he turned round slightly to see Ben looking at him, the smile on his face gone. It was replaced by tense brows that were holding their breath, a mouth that was open just slightly, caught between a word and a thought, and eyes which flamed and wanted to sear. Callum wanted to fall into them, wanted to hiss with the pain and dance with the burn.

“It’s a sin,” Ben said quietly, and the tone of his voice hit Callum’s ears with a buzz. It was more powerful than any sugary morsel could ever be. The last few months without it was like having the same song running around your head for two months, just a few bars of it, and not being able to name it or place it or remember any more of it. It was a gnawing annoyance, a craving to want more, and now he’d finally got it and it was worth the wait.

“What is?” he replied, just needing to hear the sound of him again, whatever he was about to say.

“You,” he said simply, placing the mouse back down on the paper. “I forgot how sinful you were. It always feels like I shouldn’t be near you. I’ve done a lot of bad things back in Walford, but when I’m with you I feel like it’s forbidden. You’re too tempting.”

Callum understood the meaning. There was guilt every time he was near Ben, it reeked out of his body, this sense of shame, this monster beating him back with its roars of disdain. It must be so strong that it even lingered over to Ben, made him sense his dishonour at falling further and further away from grace.

The pure beauty and rightness couldn’t always fight it off, but when it did, it rushed in like a tidal wave, sweeping all those feelings of sin away and just leaving bliss, pure thumping and bounding bliss that flushed over him and made him feel alive. That made him feel. That’s what it was like with Ben.

“I’ve got a mate living in Walford,” he mentioned, trying to ease the tension that was tempting him to act. They couldn’t. Not here. Not when everyone was downstairs, though they felt a million miles away now. They had to stop. “Mick Carter? He runs a pub down that way.”

“He don’t run it no more,” Ben said, before his head turned sharply at the sound of clip clopping heels scurrying up the stairs.

As the door burst open, Callum scrabbled to his knees, peering over the boxes, their bubble popped, suddenly and intrusively. Ben rose a little slower, but still looked tense as Judy flew through the door.

“Shit! Those stairs are a killer in these heels! Your brother’s on his way up!” she warned, wriggling her denim skirt back down that had ridden up her waist, as she blew the remnants of her side ponytail off her face. “So, whatever you two are doing, tuck it back in and duck down!”

She tottered her way in between the cases, as Callum shoved the paper bag back in his pocket.

“I ain’t hiding,” Ben said, standing to full height. “Not from no one.”

They all stilled in a standoff, as Callum’s heart beat loudly, annoyingly so when he was trying to listen for footsteps. “Don’t be a dick all your life!” Judy said, giving Ben a shove. “This ain’t about you, so get behind a fucking box! I did three weeks of self defence classes down at the community centre, and the first thing I learned was how to make a fella’s knackers shrivel back up inside his body! You want me to show you?”

“Looking at your face for the past few months has seemed to do the trick already, darlin’,” Ben replied, with a smirk. “Alright! I’m going. Wouldn’t want you to strain a fingernail.”

Ben gave a look towards Callum, it was pleading, hopeful even, but that soon faded as he let out a frustrated sigh, walking towards some boxes at the back of the room. He pulled the curtain aside and slipped behind it with a huff. Callum hated hiding, he loathed it even though it was sewn into every fibre of his being. It turned out, forcing someone to do the same thing felt even worse.

Judy pulled him closer as she yanked her top up, so it sat under her arms exposing her bra. She then reached down and undid Callum’s belt. “What you doing?” he asked, his arms firmly by his side.

“Gotta make it look realistic! Not looking like we’ve been up here playing hide and seek!” she said, as she cocked her ear towards the door, listening out. “He said he was gonna go for a leak and then come get you. Where is he? Does he piss like a race horse, or somethin’?”

“He’s probably just got chatting again, forgotten all about me,” Callum said, watching the emerald green bow in Judy’s hair flop to and fro when she moved her head to the side.

She shook her head, and he noticed how her breasts pooled a little more out of her bra at the movement. He still hated that he had those thoughts. That instead of being turned on by a half naked woman in front of him, he was more concerned over whether she was wearing the correct bra size. There was still part of him that hissed with a forked tongue, scolding him for not being normal.

“Nah, no offence Callum, but I wouldn’t gob on your brother if he were on fire,” she said, and he heard a snort emit from the man behind the curtain. He could feel him in the room, even when he couldn’t see him. The air was still changed, still charged. “But, he does care for you. It’s same with my brothers. They’ve just got a bullshit way of showing though. Do you think I should cut my hair into a bob?”

The non-sequitur threw him off a little, though the situation itself was more than strange. He was standing in his local, with his trousers undone in front of his half dressed friend, waiting for his brother to storm up while his…while Ben was curled up and hidden from view. Everything he touched seemed to turn into a storm.

“I dunno, Jude,” he replied with a shake of his head. It looked fine to him. “Why’d you want to change it?”

She gave a shrug, clearly a little disappointed with his response. “Some people thought it would make me look a bit more sophisticated. Like a famous movie star in Hollywood!” she replied, a short smile glittering on her face, before falling away. “Guess it would still be me under the hair though. Hairdressers don’t have magic wands.”

Callum looked at her, squinting and trying to see beneath the clumps of mascara and green eyeshadow. She looked tired; the concealer rubbing off and fading, barely covering the purple bags under her eyes. “Why’d you go to self defence classes, Jude?” he asked curiously.

Her eyes looked down, and she swallowed deeply, before plastering a smile on her face again. “I meant to go to Step Aerobics. It was always on a Tuesday and I wanted to get myself a bit in shape. Plus, Maggie Shore gave me some leg warmers she nicked from Top Shop, and I wanted to try them out.”

There was another snort from behind the curtain. “Ignore that! I think I’m actually growing on him,” she remarked, with a grin. “So I turned up, expecting to see Jenny Taylor from the bookies take the class. Instead that fella Duncan was there. You know, the one with the anchor tattooed under his belly button? Turned out, I’d got the wrong night and he was running some self defence lessons, so I stuck around.”

Callum’s forehead furrowed in confusion. “How’d you know he’s got a tattoo?” he asked, though he knew the answer as soon as Judy’s face fell.

“I only went out with a fiver, and I spent most of that on a bag of chips and a mag,” she confessed, almost in a whisper. “Didn’t have enough for the subs, did I? So we came to an arrangement. I got what I needed though.”

There was a firmness in her voice that he hadn’t heard before, but he couldn’t question her further, as footsteps were pounding up the stairs. The door burst open, as Stuart bundled through, a look of fury on his face before his eyes widened. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” he said, putting his hand over his eyes. “Just came to see where you were.”

“I’ll be down in a minute, Stu,” he replied, doing his belt back up, and pulling Judy’s top down for her. “Get me a bag of crisps, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright, bruv,” he replied, staggering back and reaching blindly for the door with his hand. “Pub’s emptied out a bit now. Dogger and Alan have taken off, and so has that Ben. It’s better with out scum like him taking up the space, don’t you think?”

Callum knew he was at a crossroads. He could speak up and defend Ben, and then face the torrid of questions that were flung his way. Some he knew the answer to now, but most he still didn’t want to reply to; the words still couldn’t leave his lips, and he almost acknowledged to himself that perhaps they never would.

“I don’t know,” he said, those three words being the only ones that could fall from his mouth. The few words that wouldn’t make anyone happy. Stuart didn’t get his confirmation of Callum’s disdain, Judy was biting her lip with the awkwardness, his own heart was furious with him, and Ben, well he knew how it would have sounded.

The door swung closed behind Stuart, and there was silence in the room. Judy looked up at him, her eyes looking sympathetic at his pathetic cowardice. “I’m gonna nip off,” she said, rubbing his arm consolingly before nodding her head towards the window. “You’ve probably got things to do, and my shift starts soon. I’ll see you later.”

The door slammed for a second time, and there was still silence in the space, but Callum felt surrounded. He could feel his mood already, the fury and coolness at what had been said. It was no surprise when the curtain was yanked aside, a sharp beam of light enflaming the room. It was harsh, critical in its brightness as it brought everything out in the open, including Ben.

“I’ll get going too then,” he said, hands in his pockets and eyes looking everywhere but at Callum. “I wouldn’t want to bring down the class of this reputable institution with my scummy presence.”

“Ben,” Callum said, grabbing his arm as he walked by. He shook it off quickly, but he did turn to look into his eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”

There was a roll of his eyes, but the tension dropped out of Ben’s shoulders a little. “She was right, you know. Your little dolly bird? It ain’t about me,” he replied. “Or her, or your dad and brother, or those group of Neanderthals down there. This is all about you, Callum. It’s your choices. No one can make them for you.”

Ben turned to leave again, but Callum still couldn’t let him, and pulled his arm back again, so he was turned and facing him. The sun was watching through the window, its gaze washing over Ben. It was striking to see him in the light, and he felt more real than he ever had, not the lofty and unreachable force that he felt like when Callum had first met him. “Does it get better?” he whispered, fingers still clung onto Ben’s arm, wishing he could brand the prints there. It was possessive, he realised. That’s one of the feelings that had been there all along, and now it revealed itself. One by one, things were coming into focus after years of being blurry.

Looking up at him, Ben opened his mouth to speak, but his lips shut again, changing his mind as if he was about to reveal a secret and then stopped himself. Instead, he leaned up on his tiptoes, and placed a small kiss to the corner of Callum’s mouth, only a hair’s width of their lips even connecting. It was over before he had even realised it had begun.

“I don’t know,” Ben confessed, before lowering back down. He turned around, and Callum’s fingers let him go this time.

The skin by his lips tingled, as his tongue darted out for a taste, as if Ben was still there. Its faux flavour was like the sweetest nectar, and it bounced around his mouth and tastebuds. It was the best kiss of his life. That short tiny moment, that iota of a connection, felt like a promise. The feeling that was highlighted and bathed in sunlight, and in sin.

“I’m going to start working again. I’ll start doing the late shift a week from tonight. I’ll have to close up for Steve,” Callum called out, knowing what he was offering. He didn’t need to say anything else. Ben was still facing the door, but the little nod of his head confirmed he understood. He didn’t need to reply, and he steadily left the room. Callum had made a choice. It terrified him.

The last customer had downed the rest of their pint and left five minutes earlier. There had been a match on the television earlier on in the evening, creating more of a buzz in the atmosphere, but most of the customers had soon left after a disappointing loss. A few stragglers held on for the last hour, leaving Callum enough time to clear down around them.

It had been his third night working at The Pig, and over a week since he told Ben about his shift pattern. That first night he could barely stand still, his feet fuelled with nerves and anticipation, his heart jumping into his throat every time someone came through the door. He must have broken at least six glasses that night, and given a host of customers the wrong order. The energy was just bouncing in beads around him. When closing time came, he just sat down and waited. He watched the door for hours, hoping he would come in. And then not hoping. Hoping. And then not.

It was like some silly child’s game of pulling the petals off a flower. His own mind couldn’t even decide if he made the right choice. It hadn’t been an explicit offer he made that afternoon upstairs, he knew there was plenty of wriggle room to back out, but the meaning had been clear. Now, it was out of his hands and, for that night at least, Ben had kept it in his own.

That second night, he was still watching the door with one eye, still expecting that he could walk through. Some of those nerves had turned to disappointment though, his body letting him know what decision he wanted Ben to make. He waited for an hour again that night, but still the door remained closed.

Tonight, he felt the nerves appearing again. This time though, it was for the fact that Ben might never walk in. He had heard what Callum said and chosen to keep away. He wouldn’t blame him. Callum knew he wasn’t worth the trouble he was putting Ben through. He didn’t even know what he was offering, not really. He hadn’t looked ahead to that part of the story. He daren’t read the spoilers, and flick through to the last page. He wasn’t prepared for what he would find and how he would cope with seeing it. He wasn’t ready.

As he leaned the broom against the wall, he heard the door creak. Now his breath stopped. Now it was all becoming real.

When he turned around to face Ben, he smiled, trying to make it look casual and as if his whole being wasn’t somersaulting through his body. Ben didn’t seem his most confident either, perhaps remembering what happened the last time they were in this situation. Callum felt his hands tremble at the thought, the heat in his chest combining with the clamminess of his hands to cause his skin to fumble and flutter rapidly.

Ben came up to the bar, sliding on to a stool like Callum had watched him do before. He poured him a whiskey, managing to keep his hand level for a few seconds and threw a bag of salt and vinegar on the counter. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to yet. He didn’t know what to say.

Callum picked up the broom again, and went to sweep the floor he had just cleaned. He knew his cheeks must be rubied, and he was sure his chest was pumping up and down furiously. He must look a mess as he wondered what use adrenaline was to anyone. It had only ever hindered him.

“You don’t want a drink?” Ben called from the bar. His voice again. How did he always forget just the way it sounded? The technicolour definition of the pure, live tone of it that rumbled and pulsed through him.

“I’ll pour myself a pint once I’ve finished this,” he said, pointing towards the broom as he quickly looked up at Ben. There eyes met briefly, before he let his eyelashes flutter the moment away. “I better get this done otherwise Steve will have a go in the morning. His son got into university, so they’re celebrating tonight.”

“Yeah, he told me,” Ben remarked, before clearing his throat. He started to get up and move around to behind the bar. “I’ll pour your drink for you.”

Callum let out a reactive laugh, stopping his movement and holding a hand up when he saw Ben’s frown. “I’m sorry! Only, Steve said that you were one of the worst people he’s ever seen pull a pint!” he explained, grinning towards the glare that was being sent his way.

“Excuse me, but I’m a dab hand behind the bar, I’ll have you know, soldier!” he said, grabbing a glass from the shelf. “This will be the best pint you’ve ever tasted.”

Callum let the broom fall from his hands. “Go on then,” he said, setting it against the wall again. “Impress me.” 

As he approached the bar, Ben was just pulling back the pump and he set his effort up on the counter, leaning back with a smile and crossing his arms proudly. “See? Not just a pretty face!”

Callum squinted at the glass. “You’re giving it too much head,” he commented.

Ben grinned back victoriously, as Callum shut his eyes at the connotation. “Trust me, that’s never been a problem before,” he replied, his voice low and layered with meaning. The thickness of air was increased in the room.

There was a part of Callum that didn’t want to fight it though, or ignore it. Instead, he let it carry him away, the uncertainty of where he would land being squashed by the desire to find out where the adventure would lead. “Come on, let me show you how to do it properly,” Callum offered, making his way behind to bar.

Ben started to chew at his lip even before Callum came to stand behind him. He couldn’t look into his eyes. He knew what he would find there. The darkness and propositions. Instead, he took one of Ben’s hands and wrapped it firmly around the pump, covering his fisted fingers with his own. “You always want to have your hand around the base, not start too high up,” he began.

He felt Ben’s chuckle reverberate through to his own chest. “I swear you do these things on purpose,” he said, a little groan coming through his voice. “You ain’t as innocent as you look.”

“Next,” Callum said, ignoring the comment and how it struck him through his body. “You get your glass and you gotta make sure you hold it at the right angle.”

Ben nodded, and Callum felt his hair brush gently against his cheek. He closed his eyes, letting the delicate feeling wash over him and wave tidally over his whole body. Wrapping Ben’s other hand around the glass, he tried to ignore the fact their bodies were pressed together, their fingers clasped and overlapping. “Angles are really important,” Ben said, leaning his head back and turning it slightly, so Callum could see the mischief in his eyes. “You gotta hit the right spot.”

“You slowly pull back the pump, letting the liquid slide down the side of it at first, then you change the angle as it gets fuller,” he started to explain, before the glass slipped out of Ben’s grip with a shatter against the floor, the beer splattering against them both.

Callum took a step back at the sound, and was about to laugh and joke about Ben being almost as clumsy as he was, when he noticed the other man wasn’t moving. He was simply leaning against the counter, his hands splayed on the bar and his chin lowered to his chest. The only sound was Ben’s breathing, heavy and deep. “I can’t do this, Callum.”

Stepping forward, slowly and tentatively, he could see that Ben’s fingers on the bar were trembling with his effort to stay still, to restrain himself from moving and acting on whatever thoughts were rocketing around his brain. Callum reached out a hand, droplets of hoppy ale still coating the skin, as he gently traced a pattern on Ben’s back. He could hear him swallow, and a choked gasp escape.

Callum moved closer, as his fingers rose higher, brushing and tickling at the softness of Ben’s neck. They didn’t linger for long, before they made their way up into his hair, tousling the gentle strands before scraping delicate nails along his scalp.

Another sound escaped Ben’s mouth this time, deeper and harsher, with a whispered word attached that begged and pleaded. Callum felt like he was almost hypnotised, enchanted even, his body moving instinctively and willingly, as all other thoughts fluttered and died in his mind. All he wanted to do was touch. All he wanted to do was get Ben to make those sounds again.

There was an awareness of his own body reacting as well, but it didn’t feel out of place. It felt right and purposeful and he enjoyed the feeling of the pulsing swell. It urged him on and gave him strength. He felt powerful; he felt in control for the first time in his life and it felt like home. There was no place like it.

Moving even closer, he leaned forward and placed his hands over Ben’s fingers, clasping them together. Ben gripped on securely, and Callum felt the heat of the man’s palms radiate towards his own. They were linked. They were on fire.

The whole front of his body was now connected to Ben’s back, and he knew they could both feel it. The desire there, like that time in the alley, but even more so as this time the press of his body was deliberate. He wanted Ben to feel how much he wanted him, he wanted him to feel what his body did when he thought about him. He wanted him to know his wants.

Callum didn’t move, apart from a little drive with his hips, just so there was no air between them, that last trace floating away as they finally magnetised and attached. It would be too much to do any more, his cock already feeling too heavy with just this stillness. Instead, Callum just leaned his head forward and brushed his lips lightly over the skin below Ben’s ear, the one that had the hearing aid in. It was enough, apparently, as Ben’s breath quickened and the moan he let out made Callum gasp lightly, and involuntarily thrust his body again.

His mind felt so clear, as if everything else had fallen away. All those other sounds and voices that had been shouting and screaming at him constantly during his dreams and his waking existence had stopped, and now he could only hear one. Just one that had been there all along, as if it was a countdown clock that had been ticking quietly in the background his whole life, leading to this very moment, and now the timer was almost up. He could hear it now that everything else had disappeared.

Three.

Callum let go of Ben’s hands and leaned back, his legs staggering slightly at the pressure from remaining still, despite their desire to thrust and rock at the hip. He reached out an arm to turn Ben around, his fingers sliding on the beer drenched leather jacket. The weather had cooled that evening, which must be why he was wearing the coat, but Callum didn’t mind. The material felt supple under the pad of his thumb, and he could still feel the rich, earthy sweet smell of it hit his palette over the linger of the alcohol.

It took him two tries to get Ben off the bar, his breathing harsh and laboured. When he eventually turned around, it almost made Callum stagger back. His pale cheeks were pink and full, and his hair a mess from Callum’s hand running through. It was his eyes though. Always the eyes that drew him in. They had mountains and glaciers engulfed in flames, a torrent of burnt fires that were red raw and seething to touch and scar. There was only heat that escaped. Only a scorching inferno ready to surround.

Two.

Callum stepped forward. He knew it had to be him that did this. It was always going to be him, and now he understood that Ben had been torturing himself in holding back and waiting. He wouldn’t let him wait any longer, wouldn’t put him through that pain. This wouldn’t be like the last time, when he wasn’t sure what he wanted. Callum knew. This is what he needed. He didn’t care if a whole fleet of people walked through that door now. He wasn’t going to stop.

Leaning his hand forward, he stroked Ben’s cheek, never wanting to stop feeling his skin against his own. He placed his palm over it, rubbing gently with his thumb, soothing and suggestive. This was it. It was all clear now, as he leaned his head in, ready to meet Ben’s lips with his own.

One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @blueangel0909 on twitter
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> @moodyblueangel on tumblr
> 
> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	9. The Booth

There was still a flicker in Callum that expected it to feel wrong. That suspected that the sensation of his lips pressing against Ben’s would revolt him, or at the very least leave him with an empty nothingness. It wasn’t the first kiss of his life, and with all of them he had been left with a feeling of loss, of something missing.

As soon as his lips met Ben’s, the worried dropped and fluttered, popped like bubbles into nothing, as the niggling distractions of his mind collapsed and lie dormant. The kiss was soft at first, and delicate, warm breath coating his lips like honey. He was just tasting, just trying at the sweet intention.

When he leaned back, Ben was glancing curiously at him. He was handing over the control to Callum, letting it be his choice, though there seemed a slight nervousness in his eyes that Callum would back off again. He didn’t.

Callum leant in deeper this time, pressing his lips harder, almost forcefully, trying to let Ben know that he wanted this. That he wanted him, and at that moment it was the only choice that felt right.

He’d never kissed before. He’d been kissed and he’d put his lips on someone else’s but with those people he’s never had the desire to make them fall apart with just his mouth. That’s what he wanted to do now, pulling Ben’s lip in between his, sucking and moving it around, knowing it was reddening and swelling, all whilst his hands scraped through Ben’s hair, his fingers getting lost in there as they tangled and twisted.

It was the little moans that Ben was making that forced him to open his mouth further. They were rhythmical, as if creating percussion for the sway of their lips and the strokes through his hair. They weren’t hushed though; they came from deep down and pinged through Callum’s body, tickling every nerve point.

His body felt like it was buzzing and popping, blood flying through under intoxication, though he had barely anything to drink tonight. His legs were stiffened, almost rooted in place for fear they would tumble if they tried to move at that moment. Callum’s hands couldn’t stop quivering through Ben’s hair and down to his neck, rubbing and playing with the softness there.

He couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch, allowed to have the tangibility in his hands and he couldn’t stop. The pleasure of having the warmness, the solidness under your fingertips was a much wilder realness than even the most vivid daydream. His lips were mouthing dirty kisses against Ben’s own; the slippery roughness of their tongues meeting and filthy moans descended on Callum’s ears as he felt sounds of his own buttering up from his chest.

Ben’s lips pulled off his mouth, and for a fraction of a second Callum thought he was going to stop, to push him away and just leave. The thought thundered through him, pulsing the intensity of the desire even faster, specks of electric hitting the end of every nerve and sparking them off into flames.

His fears were unfounded though, as Ben simply moved his lips down and started to press them into Callum’s neck. He felt a quick prick of sharpness that hounded through his veins, pumping the blood faster as a reaction to the attack. It was soon soothed though, with a quick tongue darting out followed by lips that sucked rhythmically over and over again at the same spot. Callum’s legs felt like his knees were suddenly missing and seemed to buckle with the weightlessness.

Almost on reflex, one of his hands started to trace its way down Ben’s body, swirling patterns into his chest and then softly rubbing the back of his nails over his lower stomach. The touch made a deep growl emit from Ben’s lips where they were still nipping and sucking their way down Callum’s throat.

Callum moved his nails lower, hitting the cold shine of the belt buckle with a clink. He didn’t stop there though, continuing the movement down until he felt the scratch of denim on the tips of his hands, the bumpy rough material hitting every grain of his fingertips sensitively. Ben was hard, his cock pressing confidently into his jeans, and Callum traced the outline for a few seconds, the image of his length drawing out into his brain, before he curled his fingers into a grip and started to stroke up and down, pressing in.

The sudden movement seemed to have stunned Ben as he jolted off Callum’s neck, arms swinging back to the bar and setting his hands slayed on the counter behind him. He pushed his neck back, let out a curse between three guttural and huffed moans.

Callum kept going, squeezing his fingers a little tighter over Ben’s dick as his own pulsed and throbbed in his trousers to the rhythm he was setting with his hand on the other man. Ben’s eyes were closed, as he leaned back against the bar, still gripping on tightly as if it were the only thing stopping him sliding to the floor. There was a glorious pink flush to his face, blossoming and peaching, as his lips had been sucked into the shape of a cherry-swelled cupid’s bow. The gasps that they were releasing in time to the movements were begging and wicked.

Callum’s other hand was still around Ben’s neck, his thumb digging into his jaw, as though it was keeping his head from dropping back on the bar now. He moved his fingers around now, brushing his thumb against Ben’s plump lips, opening them a little. He imagined what it would be like, to be near them, to rest the head of his cock against them, wet and coated, rubbing gently up and down until they opened up for him.

He mirrored the image with his thumb, stroking and brushing gently until Ben slipped out his tongue and dragged the tip in with his lips. Callum felt the warm wetness immediately as Ben’s tongue swirled around his thumb, before he started to gently suck as he licked the pad. A throaty groan was still floating from Ben as he took Callum in deeper and deeper. Then he opened his eyes.

The moans became louder, and Callum realised that the sound was coming from his own body now. Ben’s lids were heavy as his soft lashes stroked out from them. His eyes were black, darkened like a starless night sky, full and round with want and demand. They were ashes that were just about to spark into a new life. Callum couldn’t stand it, how they struck and stabbed into him, scaring him with this moment.

He just knew he needed to get closer, the fullness of his cock not being fulfilled with just his own hand ghosting over Ben’s. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

With a quick movement, he took both his hands off Ben, a whiney breath escaping from the other man when the contact disappeared. There wasn’t a long wait though as Callum’s body stormed against his, hands gripping onto his leather jacket to pull him up to meet for a kiss. It was an awkward angle and their lips were only making contact some of the time, but the frenzied pace urged him on to start moving Ben, walking him backwards until they were out from the bar.

It was inelegant, their movement through the pub, both not willing to let the contact and kisses stop for a second so they could see where they were going. Callum knew though. He knew exactly where he was going. He could walk this space easily with his eyes closed, though they took a few bumps to the legs with chairs and stools sticking out from the tables. Eventually though, there was a thud as Ben’s heels hit the back of a booth. The booth that Callum always sat at with his dad and brother.

Ben fell down onto his back, onto the cushioned surface, his hand reaching out for Callum’s shirt and tugging him with him. It was uncomfortable, the booth too small and the rounded shape meaning they were half hanging off. At least it should have been unpleasant, but Callum didn’t feel it at all. All he felt was Ben’s body, solid, firm and encased beneath him.

Callum stopped and reached out for Ben’s hand when he tried to shrug off his leather jacket. He wanted him to keep it on. He linked their fingers together intimately and buried his nose into Ben’s neck, kissing and nuzzling the rough skin there, enjoying the sting of stubble that pinpricked against him. He breathed in the scent. The sweetness and the earth, the bitterness of the ale and smoke of the whisky, the want of the sweat and heat that resided there. He started to move his hips.

It was careless in its pace, the spike of need in Callum’s body outweighing any concern about rhythm and control. His cock was straining painfully against his jeans, but any discomfort seemed muted, having transformed into bliss as he rubbed and thrust with sharp snaps against Ben’s thigh, the booth creaking with a groan of ecstasy with every forward motion.

Ben was setting a different pace, rolling his body slower against Callum’s hip, his moans long and load and expelling with every slow sliding drag of his dick. Callum moved their still linked hands down lower and slightly between them so his thumb caught Ben’s covered length every time it circled round.

It was a mismatched rhythm, or it should have been, but every time their motions seemed to peak together, and the booth squeaked impressively underneath them. It was still too little for Callum though, he wanted them both at his pace, to feel them moving together at the speed he set.

Callum let go of Ben’s hand, placing it on his hip instead and moved his lips up to kiss at his open, hot mouth. He didn’t still for long, thrusting his hips and manipulating Ben’s body slightly with his hands so the fly on their jeans were rubbing together, their hard weeping cocks pressing furiously at the material between them, begging for release with every grind.

Ben’s hand tried to move down to undo his belt, but again Callum knocked it away. He didn’t want to change anything now. This was everything. The feeling of this was everything. He didn’t want to go any further and ruin it. He always ruined everything, and this was too perfect to get any better. There would be only one way it could go.

Callum started to grind and thrust even quicker now, his body filling and bursting to the seams with every touch and contact, Ben’s arms rolling around him, one at his waist and one at his shoulders, gripping on tight as he moved his own hips now in the time Callum was setting, his breaths escaping in loud needy huffs, pressing in tightly trying to chase what he needed.

It surrounded them, those few sounds; Callum breath audible with the strain, Ben’s moans always dirty and pinching every nerve in Callum’s body, the scratchy friction of the denim furiously rubbing and the squealing of the booth as it buckled with the pressure.

Callum’s face felt like it was an inferno; it seemed to glow and flame as he tried to kiss Ben’s cheek while banging his cock into his lower body, not even caring what part he was making contact with, as long as it was him. As long as it was this force of fire and ice and blood and flesh and beauty and strength that had pierced its way into his life; that was writhing underneath him. A long as it was Ben.

He was getting erratic now, the pace too frenzied to remain rhythmical and his body unspooling in a way it had never experienced before. There was a cracking that he could barely hear and a snap, but it just faded into the background as Ben’s soft whispers hit his ears. They were begging, dirty and wanton and Callum liked making him come undone like that.

It wasn’t long before Ben’s movement stilled slightly in jolting gasps and Callum could feel the legs around him tense. With a simple ‘fuck’ Ben whimpered out three small sighs before rolling his hips a couple more times and stopping.

That was all it took for Callum to come apart. He gritted his teeth and grunted a few times in quick succession. The sensations in his body that had been building, until he felt like he was going to explode from his soul, finally tipped over, and started waving through him as he kept rubbing fervently against Ben. It was like everything was heightened and vibrant colour started exploding in front of him; the iris blue of Ben’s eyes, the nightshade darkness of his jacket and the poppy red of his lips, all reached out and stung at him, caressed him and every fibre and cell of his body as though it were being kissed and nipped into peace and acceptance.

It faded slowly, gradually pulling away as the stinky beige of the walls and booth made its dull sepia way back into his view, encasing everything with a wilting grime. Ben was laying back in the booth, soft breaths escaping from his mouth, and he gave a slight wince when Callum shifted his body.

Callum staggered off him, having to grip out and reach for the table as his legs were a trembling mess of crying muscle. He ran his hand through his sweat slick hair, as droplets continued to slide and fall onto his face. His whole body was sated and gorged, and was slickening itself with the consequences of its greed.

Ben let out a snort of laughter, before pulling himself to sit up with a sigh. “I can’t believe we come in our jeans!” he said, chuckling to himself, before turning to look at Callum with a smile. “Like a fucking pair of teenagers! You alright? You want me to give you a lift home?”

Callum shook his head, as he could see Ben look up and down at the state of him, chewing his lip as his eyes drew in every detail. There was no escaping what had happened by his appearance. Ben’s gaze was overwhelming, making all his nerve endings feeling almost too sensitive, soreness and sting creeping into his body.

“Nah, it’s alright, I’ve got some bits to do here before I go. You get yourself off,” he replied, before closing his eyes at the remark, so he wouldn’t see Ben’s expression. There was a chill in the air suddenly, as a cold breeze blew between them, and Callum felt his hands itch and squirm, as ghosts haunted their way through his body. “I’ve actually got a few things to do upstairs. You’re alright seeing yourself out, yeah?”

He didn’t even wait for Ben’s response, simply turning around before he stumbled and strode out the bar, as quick as his defiant legs would carry him. He took the stairs two at a time, clunking heavily, and not breathing until he hurried into the room and slammed the door behind him.

Callum’s body stilled as his ears pricked up, listening out for what Ben would do. A few minutes later, he heard the bar door creak shut before soft footsteps tramped down the stairs towards the outside door. He hadn’t followed him. Callum hadn’t wanted him to. It was all too much now. The way he looked at Callum, the thought of his touch and his taste. What they had just done. What Callum had just done.

It shouldn’t have happened. He didn’t understand how he let himself be taken over like that. How he just let all his guard down in just a few seconds like he had no control or no choice. The room felt stuffy, the air catching in his throat and suffocating his lungs. He punched and ripped his way into one of the cardboard boxes and grabbed out a bottle, hearing the cap click as he twisted it off. The vodka felt cold on his tongue before it roared and growled its burn down his gullet. He took another swig, and then another, the alcohol soon numbing his throat. He wished he could get that feeling over all of his body and into his mind. Callum took a few more swigs in the hopes he could reach that sensation.

He locked the pub up as he left. It wasn’t quite as clean as he wanted or as Steve would need it in the morning, but he didn’t care. It didn’t seem important right now. Callum just ran home, keeping to the darkness so no one would see the state he was in. So no one would guess at what he had done.

He tried to run as fast as he could. He tried. It wasn’t working though; his legs felt too wobbly, heavy and fluttering constantly like humming bird wings. The pull and strain of his muscles were restricting their movement. They were already preparing for their slumber, satisfied after their activity. It was making his speed slack. His body didn’t understand what it was running away from, why it was moving away from the source of its pleasure. It had wanted to stay there, curled up in that booth and bathe in paradise after it had been denied entrance for so long.

Finally, he reached the courtyard of his building, the area seemingly quiet and darkened so there would be no witnesses to his shameful getaway and his dishonourable behaviour. He could reach his flat and his bedroom, getting as far away from what happened as possible. There was just silence around him drawing away the memories. Well, almost.

_“Why can’t you see! What’s in that tree!”_

Callum gave a long sigh before glancing behind him at the man trailing along, vomit stains down his jacket, with only one of his shoes on. “Those aren’t the right words, Pete!” he called behind him, not needing the intrusion right now. If ever there was a time that Callum didn’t have patience, it was now. A niggling and building feeling of annoyance and anger building in his body now it had stopped releasing the energy through his run.

_“We can’t snow on Mount Etna! With suspicious minds!”_

“Still wrong, Pete!” he told the man, who was staggering along behind Callum at a surprising and alarming pace. He seemed to want to follow him for some reason. He could probably smell the familiar stench of hopelessness wafting off Callum, and was drawn to it.

_“When an old friend I know. Stops to say hello, will I see suspicion in your eyes!”_

Callum didn’t know where it came from. It built in him all of a sudden, and he didn’t even realise it was there. It was something that shouldn’t annoy him so much, some poor, drunk loner singing and wailing a song off key. Staggery Peter wasn’t really bothering anyone. But it did. It bothered him. It was scraping away at his mind like someone was scratching a rusty tin nail down the surface of his brain; every lyric stabbing in and hitting awake the monsters that guarded his temper.

_“Do I see suspicion in your mind!”_

“Shut the fuck up! Shut up!” Callum screamed out, turning furiously on his foot and pacing in vicious strides to where the man was wobbling against a wall. “No one is listening to you! No one! No one cares about you! No one loves you and no one will ever love you!”

Callum was right up in the face of the man who let out a belch before clumping to the ground, clinging to the wall as he went. A hit of guilt hit Callum’s stomach as his anger disappeared with every breath, replaced with the shame of bellowing at someone who couldn’t fight back.

_“We’re caught in a trap…”_

Shaking his head, Callum walked away, slowly this time. Staggery Pete was too out of it to even notice or care what he was saying. He knew though. Callum did. He knew who those words were aimed at, the person he was really furious at, and as he locked the bathroom door in his flat, he was finally face to face with them.

He started to strip off all his clothes; his boxers and jeans were sticky with his release, his underwear almost drenched though with sweat from his efforts. He dropped them both to the floor before taking off his shirt and adding it to the pile. Callum looked in the mirror, studying his body with a surprise at the new marks and a hatred for those that were already there.

There were old scars, faded for many years, but each carrying a memory. Each marking a moment he had made a mistake and reaped the retribution. There were a few that were natural markings; off colour skin battered from sports and training accidents. They held little pain and drew little focus. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the most recent festering wound. The one that was still bubbled to the surface, still blazon with colour and whittled with memory. The one he received in Afghanistan.

It taunted him and criticised, swelling out from his side. No one else could see this, because if they did then another person would know what he had done. Another person would feel ashamed at him and his actions over there. Another person would know the broken bodies he had left in his wake. Another person would know about ‘him’.

There were even fresher marks, formed with lust and want, making sure he couldn’t pass off the night’s actions as a daydream. His body reminding his mind that what they went through was very much real. It wouldn’t let him forget. There was a violet bruise stamped on to his neck, the blood nestling there and tinging the skin as it was commanded, caressed and compelled into place by Ben’s lips.

There were red marks that trailed down his torso and onto his back. It pulled back a memory to him, of Ben’s nails clawing down him, trying to pull him closer, trying to get as much glorious friction as he could as they rubbed and slid against each other, before his brain snapped the image back like an elastic band, not wanting to remember the delectable sensation.

There were a few small bruises at his hip as well, where Ben had clung on to him, trying to keep up the relentless pace and rhythm that Callum had been setting as he had pumped his hips with a craving need. It had maybe surprised Callum a little, how Ben had been so supple to his whims, how he had just let Callum take control and was more than content to just follow along and let himself be dominated. Not only letting himself, but wanting it. It just seemed to click all together that way.

Callum jumped into the shower, only spending a few minutes letting the water fly over his body. The temperature was intemperate, flying from hot to cold, and then back again in just seconds, scalding and chilling his body as the memory of the night couldn’t help but wash back in front of his eyes.

The embarrassment crept in gradually at first, but then it was scathing through him. As much as the whole experience felt like a dream, like it wasn’t him that it happened to, the reality couldn’t be denied. He warmed up with humiliation just thinking about how he performed, how his first proper experience he ever had with another person, had actually gone. He was pathetic. Ben was someone that clearly had a lot of experience, and all Callum had done was climb on top of him in a grotty seat in a London pub and rubbed his clothed cock against his leg, like some unneutered dog humping a couch cushion.

His first sexual experience and it was with a man. The shame turned into something else then, as the realisation slapped and tackled him, knowing that this should now be a curiosity that was fulfilled. An itch that was scratched and he could fall back into safety with the knowledge that it hadn’t meant anything, that it was as unfulfilling as all his attempted experiences with women. That there was something wrong with him that couldn’t be defined and answered.

As he dried himself off, picked up his clothes, and padded into the bedroom, he knew that wasn’t the case. He remembered that feeling, looking at Ben’s face as he came and following with him. Not vividly; a sensation like that couldn’t ever be described or recalled with the same level of power and ecstasy as you felt in the moment. It could only be a faded copy until you got another taste, until you got another driving hit that waved bliss through you and took you to a new dimension. That made you believe in a higher ephemeral power for those few seconds.

As Callum crawled into bed, he realised he wanted it again. There was embarrassment snarking at his mind, shame clawing through his veins, anger climbing and seeping through every pore, but one feeling overwhelmed and overpowered them all. He wanted Ben. He wanted to be near him again, to hear him make those sounds and writhe against his body. Callum kicked himself for the fact he didn’t let himself touch Ben, or let himself be touched. It would have only taken a moment to reach out and undo Ben’s jeans, moving in and feeling him firm and thick in his hand, to let the prints of his fingers stroke onto him and make him fall apart.

Callum thought about how his own jeans were so tightened, how the layers of clothing were denying what they really wanted. Ben had tried, he remembered. He had reached down to undo his trousers, to put his hand on him. If Callum closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself back there, wishing he could do it all over again.

He reached down into the pile of clothes he had brought back from the bathroom, and pulled out his t-shirt, bringing it up to his face. It reeked a little of his own sweat, but he could strongly make out the other smells that littered through it. The sweet vanilla, and stale ale, and that pure scent of earth and bitter smoked honey that was Ben. He lay the shirt down on the pillow imagining he was here, and he felt his body stir at the memory and the phantom presence.

Callum lay his face into the shirt and started to fist his hardening cock, imagining it was Ben that was there, imagining that he had let Ben pull him out of his jeans and put his fingers around him; that he had put those ready reddened lips around him.

It wasn’t delicate or slow, as he thrust himself into his hand, biting his lip to keep any sound coming out as he breathed and inhaled the scent in from his shirt. The sheet felt rough and harsh as he knocked the head of his cock into it and he fisted himself quickly now, moving his other hand around to his arse, grabbing the cheek, imagining it was Ben’s fingers gripping and squeezing the flesh there.

It was a softer wave than at the pub, all his senses becoming surrounded by his thoughts of Ben before he shot indelicately into his hand; a calmness settling over him at the gentle ministrations of pleasure that cascaded over his body. 

Callum reached down and grabbed his boxers, quickly wiping himself down the best he could. His body was exhausted, his mind was already shutting down, and all he remembered was setting his head back down on the shirt and breathing deeply.

The events from the past evening hit him slowly when he woke up. At first, he thought they were just a dream he had, that time when even the oddest of moments from when you were asleep, ploughing through another world, seem to be true. That’s until common sense reaches in and you’re dragged back to reality. Even after a few minutes of his eyes being open, the memory didn’t fade. The solid actuality was still thundering through his brain.

It was late morning already, and he knew he had a shift in the pub again that afternoon, so he clawed his way out of bed, the stain on the sheets reminding him of what else he had done the night before. He let out a groan, before heading back to the shower.

Callum left the flat with more than a tad of trepidation. He was worried that Ben would be at the pub. It felt too soon to see him; he didn’t think he would be able to look him in the eye after what they did. Ben had seen a side of him that no one else had. There was something about him that just kept on ripping off layers to Callum, seeing through him and into him, just reaching in and not letting him go.

As he walked through the courtyard, he saw something that made him stop and furrow his forehead in question. He took gentle steps closer, before sitting down on the brick wall, letting his legs swing gently. “You alright, Jude?”

She was slouching as she kicked and clicked her heels against the wall, her skirt flowering at the top of her thighs, barely covering a thick ladder that ran all the way to the ankles of her striped tights, and her blue checked top was hanging off one shoulder. Her messy braids were slung over her back, while her make up seemed to be clumping and running as if it was caked on days ago, just the tracks of tears breaking up the layers on her face.

Judy didn’t turn and smile up at him like she usually did; she just raised her hand and took a long sip from the glass bottle. “I’m fine,” she answered. “I’m just waiting.”

Callum looked at her, with wrinkles appearing at her eyes and lilac shadows gathering in rivers underneath. They were glassy, looking off and being trapped in a faraway land. She didn’t seem to be in this world at the moment. “What you waiting for, Jude? You sure you’re feeling alright?”

She nodded, taking another swig of the bottle. She offered it to Callum, but he shook his head. “Just got a bit of a headache,” she replied with a shrug, finally turning and offering him a small smile. “It’s fine, I’ve taken something for it. I’m waiting for a rainbow.”

“A rainbow?” he asked, looking up at the sky as if one would appear by command.

“Yeah, it’s been raining all morning, ain’t you noticed?” she asked. He hadn’t. The state his head was in since he had woken up, a whole building could have been dropped in the middle of the courtyard and he wouldn’t have noticed. Now though, as he looked around, he could see puddles formed in crevices and bumps. “Sun’s coming out now though.”

“Nah, I’ve been a bit distracted today,” he said, looking up at the sun, shyly hiding its face behind a cloud.

“Something happened with you and grumpy bollocks?” she asked, her face brightening a little. “You fucked yet?”

“No! Jude!” he protested, though he couldn’t help but smile at her face lightning up. “Not exactly anyway.”

Judy shoved him with her arm, as her jaw dropped open and she plonked the bottle she was holding down next to her. “What happened? Did you kiss?” she asked with a squeal. He nodded his confirmation, opening his mouth to tell her more, before realising he couldn’t find the words. “What else? Did he toss you off? Did you show him how you like it? Don’t let him give you a half-arsed wank, Callum! You’ve got to tell a man what you like!”

“Judy!” he said, as he felt his cheeks burning up. “Nothing like that! We didn’t even get our kit off. We just, you know…”

“Had a bit of a dry hump?” she asked, and he put his head in his hands as he nodded. “Did you want to do more? I can teach you how to give a blowie if you like? You can’t just shove it all in with one go. I’ve seen you eat; you’ve got to have a bit on finesse when you’re going down on someone.”

Callum spluttered his protest. “I don’t need an instruction booklet, Jude!”

“You’ll gag, Callum. Trust me; it’s an underrated skill to suck on a cock and not wretch up your breakfast when the head suddenly tickles the top of your throat. It takes practise. Me and Maggie used to go get a saveloy from the chippy, go behind the garages and try to take as much of it down as we could. Ideally, we’d have got a battered jumbo, but the sav’ was cheaper, and it’s not like most of the fellas around here give much of a showing. Well, with a few exceptions,” she said, as she gave him a wink and an elbow to the ribs.

“Can we stop now, please?” he begged, as she just grinned at him further. “I’d rather not think back to that.”

“What?” she said, picking up the bottle and taking another swig. “I might have been thumbing a softie, but even like that you’re outdoing most the blokes around here when they’ve got a chubby. Trust me, you’re going to make your mardy-arsed dreamboat’s eyes water!”

_“Let’s don’t let the good thing die…”_

They both turned around in succession as Staggery Pete made his way back to his flat. Callum wasn’t sure if he had been out here all night or not. He hoped not. He felt guilty about leaving him, but sometimes people were beyond help. He remembered Stuart trying to help him back to his flat once. Pete just came back out the door and started circling around the courtyard.

“Its sad, ain’t it?” Judy said, as their gaze followed the man stumbling back to his flat. “What happened to him.”

Callum looked at her curiously. “What happened to him?”

“You don’t know?” she said, raising her eyebrows in surprise. Everyone knew everyone else’s business around the estate. At least they thought they did. “He was some big shot in the city when he was younger; a lawyer, or financial advisor, something like that. One morning he woke up, turned over in his bed to give his wife a kiss and she was cold. Died in her sleep apparently. She had some rare heart condition no one knew about. The night before she was fine, and then that was it. He never got over it, started drinking and ended up here.”

Callum stared at the man who was now leaning against the wall and having a piss, then taking another few staggering steps without zipping up his trousers. He’d never thought that Pete could have been anything different. That he had another whole life that was snatched away from him, and he’d never been able to get over its loss.

“It’s awful, ain’t it?” Judy commented. “He’s just stuck now, going round and round, spending the day drinking away the pain. Ain’t much of a life is it?”

Callum shook his head. “No, it ain’t a life at all,” he said softly, gripping on to Judy’s hand. “I don’t think your rainbow’s going to appear today, Jude.”

“No, I don’t think it will either,” she conceded, giving his hand a squeeze back. “Maybe tomorrow.”

There was no Ben sitting at the bar when he started his shift, and he had to admit to letting out a little sigh of relief, though there was an emptiness that leapt around his body too. The part of him that craved seeing him in the room, that needed his looks and his touch to feel like it could survive.

Despite Ben not being in the pub, it didn’t lessen his memories of the night before. Especially when he walked in that morning and saw Steve on all fours examining the bottom section of wood of the booth. As he grew closer, he noticed that the base was completely cracked in two, splitting from the top to the bottom.

“What happened here?” Steve asked, squinting at the damage as if the answer was going to call out to him from the wood. “You didn’t let Sloppy Harris jump up on it when City scored a goal, did you?”

Callum shook his head, hoping that his cheeks weren’t too red, and his eyes weren’t screaming ‘it broke when I climbed on top of your business partner and rubbed one off a bit too enthusiastically’.

Thankfully, Steve wasn’t able to read his mind, but he did mutter that there was no point getting it fixed at the moment, and it would have to stay as it was for now. So it would just stay there, staring out at Callum as a constant reminder of that night and what he and Ben did.

The pub was a continual straggle of customers as usual, and he made a little polite chit chat with the regulars, and cleaned the bar thoroughly to distract his mind. When Alan walked in, he raised his eyes, especially when he took a seat at the bar alone. There was nothing that Callum could do; Steve had gone out and he had no choice but to serve him.

“Ain’t it your job to make polite chit chat?” Alan spat out, glaring towards Callum as he was pouring his pint. He’d simply nodded when the man had given his order. He wasn’t in the mood for a trade of words.

“My job is to listen to the customers,” he replied, setting the drink down on the counter and holding his hand out for the money. “You ain’t saying nothing.”

Alan took a long sip of his pint as Callum went to put the money in the till. He hoped the man would just sit and drink in silence, but he was in for no such luck. “Our little mate not in today then?” Alan said, his eyes looking down.

“Which mate would that be?” Callum replied. He knew who he meant, but he wasn’t about to make this easy.

“Mitchell,” Alan said, choking out his name on a breath. “You ain’t seen him today?”

Callum shrugged and shook his head, as he picked up some glasses to dry. “Nah, not been in,” he said, his voice thankfully coming out evenly. “Why’d you want him?”

The inference was there, they both heard it, and Callum suspected that he’d hit the nail on the head. “It ain’t nothing like that!” Alan replied, his face paling even more than it already had. He looked shattered, as though the mere promise of sleep had been stolen away and never returned. “Just wanted a word about something.”

“What, cause you’re such good friends?” he replied, setting a glass down and rolling his eyes.

“You’re more friendly with him than anyone else in here,” Alan hissed back. “You got something you want to admit?”

Callum met his eyes then. They both knew what each other was, they were both trying to fool the other one. “Not really, no,” Callum said, leaning his hands on the counter and looking Alan in the eye. “You’ve got to be careful what slips out your mouth. Or what slips in. You never know who’s watching.”

Alan slammed his pint down on the counter. “No, you’re right,” he said, his eyes narrowing, and his lips forming into a hard smile. “You never know who’s lurking behind a door, or who they might tell.”

With that, he slipped off the stool and out the bar. It had been him, Callum thought, his pulse racing into his head. It must have been Alan who saw him and Ben in the bar that night before he went back to the army. He didn’t know whether it was the best possible person he could have hoped for, or the worst. Both he and Ben held a secret over Alan, but that also made him unpredictable, like a wild animal trapped in a corner.

He was broken out of his concern by his phone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out to glance, expecting a message from his brother. It was from Ben. There his name was, appearing on the notification. Callum couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised that he was contacting him. Most of all due to the fact that Ben had never given him his number. How did it end up in his phone?

He opened up the message, his heart pulsing in his throat as he prepared himself for the words that were about to appear.

_‘We need to talk.’_

Callum wasn’t sure there was a worse selection of words to receive. It didn’t really say anything at all, and talking was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. He shoved his phone back in his pocket, hoping he could just ignore everything that was swimming around in his head, and he carried on trying to distract himself with his shift.

It turned out that trying to block out his thoughts only worked for so long. He lay in bed that night, trying to get off to sleep, but Ben’s message and Alan’s words were just clanging together inside his head. The sheets were bunching up by his feet, at the rubbing of his constant turning over, trying to get comfortable when his mind was so busy and shaking the energy into the rest of his body.

Finally, his eyes felt a little heavier, and his lids began to close, edging their way towards sleep.

_“And worst of all, you never call baby when you say you will!”_

Callum groaned into his pillow. He tried to be sympathetic to Staggery Pete, he really did, especially after his conversation with Judy earlier, but he’d only just started to doze off. Hearing the local drunk’s voice battling into his head wouldn’t help.

_“I’ll be home, I’ll be beside the phone waiting for you!”_

At least he had chosen a different song, though that was hardly a consolation when the voice was racketing through the window. He was slightly more on key than he typically was, so at least the usual chorus of neighbourhood dogs wouldn’t join in.

_“Why do you build me up, buttercup, baby, just to let me down!”_

It took a couple of seconds, just a moment before it clicked. Callum sat up wide eyed with a start. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, as he scrabbled out of bed, tripping up as he pulled on some joggers over his boxers and tried to run, his brain going much faster than his feet could. He grabbed his keys, as he made his way to the front door. All the lights were off, but Callum still held his breath until he carefully pulled it closed with a small click.

Belting down the line of flats, he could still hear the song ringing out, as the words were slurred around the estate. Callum pounded his legs down the flights of stairs, like he was doing a timed army exercise, not stopping or letting his mind kick in to distract him from getting to the courtyard as quickly as possible.

When he reached the bottom, he gulped back the air that had flown down his throat. He looked around, but he didn’t have to wait for long before another lyric was sung out and he could follow the sound of the voice. There standing in the middle of the courtyard, dishevelled and swaying, with a bottle of vodka in his hand was Ben.

“This is the shitest song of all time, you know that right?” he loudly slurred out when he saw Callum. “Your phone not working?”

His voice was loud and echoed across the estate; Callum started to quickly pace towards him, terrified that every resident would suddenly take this opportunity to pop their curtains open. The force meant he flew into Ben, grabbing him by the shoulders and accelerating backwards until they approached a wall covered by a stretch of awning that someone had thrown over the side.

Callum’s feet didn’t stop until Ben’s back hit the wall with a thud. He groaned, but then lifted his heavy eyes and smirked up at him. It hadn’t hurt, at least that wasn’t the predominant sensation. “I love it when you’re forceful,” he muttered up at Callum. “Do me here.”

Ben was chewing at his lips, and slightly writhing against the wall where Callum’s hands still held him. He was trying to push his body closer, but he wasn’t trying too hard. He let Callum keep him pinned.

It was inevitable in the end. It was always going to happen. Callum leaned in his head, met Ben’s lips and pressed his body closer. There was a shattering in the distance, as Callum’s hands moved up and took Ben’s face in between them. When Ben’s hands reached around and started to squeeze his arse, pulling him in tighter, he realised that it was the vodka bottle that was now in shards around their feet.

He moaned into Ben’s kisses, pressing his body in further as he felt hands move to his belt. Callum wasn’t sure what it was, perhaps a door closing or a window slamming shut, but it broke him out of the spell. He suddenly realised where they were. It could have been anyone peering out their door, walking past and seeing them. His dad was just upstairs asleep, just meters away from where they were standing.

He pushed back quickly, the fright of the potential consequences heavy in his head, Alan’s words still clattering around his mind reminding him that secrets that were held for lifetimes, could be outed in only seconds. “I don’t want this,” he said, as Ben was still propped against the wall, his breath hurling its way heavily from his mouth as he leaned his head back. “I don’t-“

“What?” Ben snapped back, pushing himself up and walking towards Callum. “Don’t you fucking say that you don’t want me! Don’t start telling me that you ain’t into this, just as much as me!”

“Stop telling me what I want!” Callum nipped back. He was tired at having to explain himself to everyone. “It ain’t as easy for me!”

Ben shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “You know, I thought I got you when I first met you. I thought that you was one of those sweet, kind boys, that would never do anyone any harm,” he started, and if Callum didn’t know any better he would think that there were tears in Ben’s eyes. He continued to walk closer. “Then I looked, proper looked at you, and I realised, that ain’t you. You pretend to be some innocent little flower; a small town boy looking over the rainbow for something better. You grew up in a nightmare, Callum. You could break a heart in a blink. You’re a killer.”

Those words stirred a memory and a truth in him, and brought back a moment from months previously that kicked in his defences. As Ben stepped a little too near to him, it hit his reflexes and he lashed out an arm without even knowing he was doing it. “Stop!” he cried out, blurred lights filtering across his eyes and his fist made solid contact.

The blurring faded slowly, and he could make out Ben on the ground, his nose bloody and hand held up, scarlet drops running down the side. The shards of glass had dug in and cut. They had hurt. He had hurt someone close to him, and it wasn’t for the first time in recent months.

The tears dropped warmly down his face, as though trying to comfort and consol. “I’m sorry,” he said, in barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean it.”

Ben scoffed, pulling himself up with a wince, a mess of scarlet and black. “You know, Callum, at some point you’re going to have to accept that you make your own choices. You’re going to have to face them eventually.”

He shuffled off out of the courtyard, and Callum let him. There was no point saying anything more tonight. He didn’t even know what the right answer was. “I don’t know,” he whispered quietly to himself, as the ruby red droplet shined up at him from the shattered glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @blueangel0909 on twitter
> 
> @moodyblueangel on tumblr
> 
> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	10. The Field

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Callum's world isn't the nicest, so please heed the warnings and tags!

“Steve, you’re going to have to get this fixed, mate! I’ll end up with splinters in my arse. How am I supposed to watch the race when my seat looks like it’s had the life banged and battered out of it!”

Callum glanced his eyes down as he finished restocking the crisps, tossing the bags of prawn cocktail into the container with mild concentration. His dad and Stuart had strolled into the bar about twenty minutes ago, laughing in some endless pitiful joke, and Jonno immediately started complaining about the booth when he saw it.

Steve had merely shrugged and suggested they sit elsewhere for now. He said that he had no plans to fix it at the moment, with money being tight, but Jonno didn’t seem happy about that. It was where they always sat, since Steve’s dad was the landlord for all those years. He always liked to remind Steve of how much better the place was when his father was alive and in charge. To Callum the place seemed no different, but most of the residents were still griping. There was no room for change around here. No acceptance for it.

He daren’t look up, his eyes stinging with trying to retain the same stare, as blurred shapes tried to tempt him move his view. He certainly couldn’t glance to the bar where Ben was sitting with his whisky and the packet of salt and vinegar that Callum threw at him. It took all his energy and strength to do that and keep his face neutral. Ben had come in the bar just a few minutes previously and headed for the landlord.

“Is it done?” Steve had asked, his voice quiet but still easily heard from where Callum was cleaning down some tables.

“Almost,” Ben has replied, and he felt his eyes on him. He couldn’t see them, but he knew that’s where they were. “One more, and we’re set. We can get the rest of it out now though.”

“He give you that?” Steve asked pointing to the slight bruising around Ben’s nose. Callum couldn’t help but to look up then, the colours bursting off Ben’s face judgingly.

“Nah, you know me. Make friends everywhere I go,” he replied, as his eyes flickered to Callum. “Your son all set for uni?”

He wanted to reach out and push Steve away from Ben. Grab him by the shirt and hurl him to the furthest corner of the earth. He was just using him for whatever deal they had going; he would sell him out in a second. After the words he’d heard him use about Ben, how could he still go into business with him?

Callum knew how much of a hypocrite it made him sound. After all he had done to Ben. His emotions seemed to dart up and down like pinball, wanting to smother the man to him one minute and then punch him away the next. He was never quite sure how that was going to land.

Then it got Callum thinking about that night in here. He could almost tear his shadow from his body and place it in the corner of that memory, watching them in that booth, seeing himself thrust and writhe over Ben. He could hear the noises and still taste his lips on his tongue. The memory of that night was now etched in his head above all others; a filter of bright colours poured over everything. Then he had to go and ruin it. Like he ruined everything.

That’s what led him to throw the crisps at Ben, and ignore his presence at the bar. He couldn’t talk about an apology, he couldn’t look at Ben right now without thinking about the noises he made that night, about his eyes, and about how his body felt hard and heavy against him. It was like someone showing all your dirty little fantasies on a huge cinema screen to someone. Ben had seen him naked and bare, even though not a morsel of clothing was removed.

Callum had been too distracted with Ben appearing outside his window last night to feel the humiliation. He still felt like he did something wrong, like Ben would consider him pathetic. He’d never done anything like that before. There was the buzz though, that really got under his skin, that itched at his veins and laced his blood. It snuffed out the embarrassment quickly. It was heightened, the adrenaline running through his veins in those moments. The fear of getting caught, the words that Ben had moaned at him, and then the ones he’d spat at him. It just got him pent up even more, an inferno plaguing his body in attack.

He was angry at himself as well, for letting that anger get to him. Just like when he was little and he hit out at those stupid boys picking on his snowman jumper. That day when he was young, it wasn’t just them, they were so insignificant to any part of his life. It was everything that had happened in his short life that he’d stacked away, pretending that it hadn’t happened. Then it all came tumbling down, and he’d lashed out.

That’s what happened last night as well. He thought he’d managed to put away the memories and guilt of the last few months, but they were just lurking below the surface after all. Fuelled and accelerated by these feelings that were pushing their way out, and what he and Ben had done. It always came back to what they did. That line was crossed, that there would never be any going back from it.

The main issue, the heart of what was gnawing at Callum, wasn’t what he had done. It was at the fact he’s liked it. He had wanted to get lost in that feeling and stay there forever. That was a problem.

Callum glanced over to the corner table. Judy was sitting there, her light hair dyed into a harsh yellow blonde, and cut into a sharp angular bob with stands that hung like straw around her ears. She was wearing a short, green dress over a pair of brown thick woollen tights, sipping on glass of vodka and ice. She wasn’t alone. Next to her was a man that Callum had seen in the pub only a handful of times before. Someone who worked with Dogger on the sites, but wasn’t from around Canning Town. His name was Daniel, if he recalled correctly. There was nothing memorable about him though, nothing remarkable that should cause Judy to throw her head back and laugh like she was doing now.

It wasn’t her usual laugh though, not the few times that Callum had heard her genuine one; soft and sweet and full of charm. This had a harsh desperation, and she squeezed Daniel’s leg with every crying cackle that escaped her lips.

Callum glanced over at Ben, seeing him take a look at Judy’s table, before shaking his head. He caught Callum’s eyes as he was looking back, and he couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t just stand there and pretend Ben would go away, that if he left the pub he still wouldn’t dominate his thoughts. There was an ignorance to Callum though, an inexperience and puzzlement. He had never done this before. He had never done it with someone he had wanted. How was he supposed to know what to do?

That small simple fact he could admit. It wouldn’t be much to most people, but to him it seemed like a engulfing tidal wave that escaped and coated everything, that destroyed walls that were set up, and broke down boundaries. He didn’t know why, but he knew he wanted Ben. Even sitting there, swirling his drink around in his glass with his scabbed hand, his jaw set with annoyance, Callum knew he wanted him.

“We gonna talk,” Ben asked, chewing at his lip, his eyes still lasering into the whisky. “Or did you just want to thump me again as a show of your affection?”

Callum looked at him, his hair slightly dishevelled, and eyes snow covered, hidden beneath his thoughts, and worlds away. He didn’t look like he wanted a conversation. He looked like he wanted a fight. “I ain’t gonna do anything when you’re in this mood with me,” he replied, cleaning down the bar around Ben.

“Not everything is about you, Callum!” Ben hissed back, crunching down harshly on a crisp. “My every thought don’t revolve around you, and it never will.”

He couldn’t respond to that even if he had wanted, but there was a sting floating down his throat, like he’d swallowed barbed wire. It scratched and made him bleed. Their focus was turned elsewhere though, as Jonno was squirming around in the booth, complaining how there was a huge dip right in the best position for the tv. “It’s like someone’s pounded it hard!” he complained loudly to Stuart, who glanced his eyes over to Callum. He could get more annoyed with their dad than anyone else; he just hoped he wasn’t looking towards him because he wanted his younger brother to comfort Jonno and listen to him rant.

Callum blushed slightly as he looked over to the seat. “There’s no point getting embarrassed now,” Ben muttered over to him, almost with a smile. Almost. “You can’t grind a bloke into a pub chair and then go all coy and cover your ankles.”

“You want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Callum asked. Ben was keeping something from him, hiding something away. What happened between them may be part of it, but if it bothered him that much then he wouldn’t be sitting there with Callum.

Ben’s face turned back to a harsh night’s thunder, clattering dangerously into the bar with its intensity. “What you mean apart from bruises on my face and the glass scar on my hand?” he spat back.

“I’m sorry,” Callum replied. He was. It was all he could say, but he did mean it. He was tired of scaring people he cared about. It made him exhausted to think about the amount of shrapnel that had been hurled out during the explosions he caused, and how their lives were only worsened by his good intentions.

Ben shrugged with one shoulder, his mouth tight, dismissing the suggestion of hurt with a cock of his head. “Don’t get precious, you ain’t the first bloke that’s had a go at knocking me about,” he said through darkened eyes. “You ain’t even the first in your family.”

“I ain’t like that,” Callum protested. He wasn’t. He wouldn’t. For his whole life, he’d fought becoming one of them, struggled not to fall into that darkness. “That’s not who I am.”

Giving a wry chuckle, Ben knocked back his whiskey. “We’re all like that,” he conceded. “All of us that came from the gutter, we all got that wickedness nipping at our heels. Yet, here we still are, slopping around in the dirt trying to claw our way out. All the rest of them though, those people that wouldn’t hurt a fly, that just shine their way through the world, they’re the ones that get caught in our crossfire. They’re the ones that don’t recover.”

“You’ve lost someone?” Callum asked, just knowing that was the cause of his pain, of this spiralling mood he seemed to be in today. “I’ve lost people too.”

Callum moved to place his hand over Ben’s on the bar, wanting to feel comfort, wanting to comfort in return, needing a hit of his warmth that would toast through his body.

Just as his fingers were lingering over Ben’s hand, he stopped suddenly, remembering who else was in the room. He quickly shot his eyes over to his dad, who thankfully wasn’t looking at that moment. He couldn’t believe he almost forgot he was here, almost didn’t care. He was slipping, mask after mask being smashed to the ground without his control.

His gaze darted back to Ben, whose eyes were angered at the realisation at why Callum had stilled his movement. It was like walking on a knife edge, trying to deal with him today. His emotions were too raw, like his skin was turned inside out, and every look, comment and misshapen thought was ripping into his flesh like a dagger. He was hurting.

Ben shook his head. “They were braver as well,” he continued, looking at Callum with a kind of disdain. “The lost ones who never did no one no harm. Weren’t no cowards. Pinning a few medals on someone don’t give them courage.”

Before Callum could speak, Jonno came clattering over, slamming his glass on the bar surface. “You leave my boy alone,” he gritted out towards Ben, hate filtering through his tone. “He might be forced to serve you, but that don’t me he wants to. We’re all sickened at having to watch you in here, mincing about trying to get your claws in, but that don’t mean we have to put up with you leering at us.”

Ben turned to Callum, perhaps a flash of hope in his eye that he would speak up and defend him. He wanted to. He wanted to stroke along Ben’s face, and tell his dad that he didn’t know him properly. That wasn’t going to happen. No matter how many masks crashed down around him, there was still one he clung to tightly. He didn’t know what would happen if he let that go.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll live without Callum’s servicing,” he replied, as he slipped off his stool. “I wouldn’t want him to do anything he clearly don’t want. That seat giving you jip? I’d just rock right into it if I were you. Trust me, it’ll hit the right spot.”

As Ben walked towards the toilets, Callum looked on, hating the ghosting footprints that were crushing into his ribcage. He looked towards the other side of the pub, noticing Judy was gone too.

“Steve might let him in here, but that don’t mean you got to talk to him,” Jonno said, his tone critical as always, as Callum poured him another pint. “Taking the mick, him sliding around here, the little poncey prick. They used to castrate scum like him in my day. Teach them what it is to be a proper man. As soon as Steve’s done with him, I say we get a group together-“

“Dad!” Callum shouted out, the bile searing his throat, acid trickling up and burning with nausea. “Just stop it! Don’t talk about him like that!”

Jonno narrowed his eyes, and looked at his son with confusion. “Come on, dad!” Stuart said, coming over and slapping his hand on his father’s shoulder, his voice trying to be jovial despite the obvious wariness there. “You know what Callum’s like. Wouldn’t want to see a fly hurt, this one.”

Callum looked thankfully at his brother, who was giving him a warning stare back, one that said he was going too far. “I’d have thought the army would have toughened you up a bit,” Jonno snarled back, though he seemed to accept Stuart’s excuse. “You always was too soft. You’d think going about and shooting a few foreign twats would give you bigger bollocks.”

“I’ve got to take the rubbish out,” he said, though the bin was barely half full. He had to get away though, he could feel his blood rise, the pictures in his head fast forwarding to him punching or smashing something out of his way, wanting to shake this build up out of his body.

The air that hit his face as he opened the door helped a little, stinging and snuffling out a touch of the fire at first. He couldn’t help but kick himself for letting his dad say those things, for being so inactive and not letting the words that rushed around his mind play out. Ben was right. He was just a coward.

As he approached the bottom of the staircase, he realised he wasn’t alone in the alley, as groans came from the back wall. Callum peered round and then stilled at the sight he saw.

Judy had her back to the wall, with one leg raised against the adjacent brick surface, her heel perched on a slice of grouting to keep her up right. Her ripped tights were hanging halfway down by her knees, as Daniel was thrusting and pressing into her with an audible groan, his head buried in her neck. She was simply looking away, her expression vacant and eyes glazed with tears.

“Get off her!” Callum called, rushing towards them, pulling Daniel away and giving him a shove to the ground. His fury didn’t stop though as he started kicking him in the ribs as he flailed around on the concrete. There was just anger pulling in his veins. He wanted to hurt someone, he wanted to take control and prove that he made his own choices. He wouldn’t be forced into anything by anyone. No one would tell him what he could do. “Stay the fuck away from her!”

He heard Judy call his name, but it felt distant, like she was just in a distant dreamland and appearing as an apparition, not in his world. He couldn’t stop being angry at the man of the floor who was holding his side. He wanted to make him pay. He wanted him to feel the pain that he felt; that he always felt.

Callum grabbed the guy up by his shirt, his name ringing over and over again in his ears. It was frantic now, the distant sounds, but just like twinkles, not strong enough to guide him back. He shoved Daniel against the wall, letting his fist fly against his cheek and sending him reeling backwards again. The sensation wasn’t dulling in his body, but just flaring with every movement. With every trickle of scarlet glittering blood that sprayed out, it just built stronger in him.

Pulling his arm back again, it was stopped on its forward acceleration. It was like a button was pressed, and suddenly all the sound came flooding back as he heard the gasping rough exhale of his breath, the pounding of his heart thrusting against his ear, and the screeching cry of Judy behind him. More than anything though, he heard a soft voice by his ear, just saying his name. Commanding him to stop with a promised whisper.

His whitened knuckles fleshed back up with pink as he released the hold he had on Daniel’s shirt, his movements slow and trembling now, his eyes filling with wetness at the realisation of what he has done. He glanced his head back at the fingers rubbing softly at his arm. Ben’s face was gentle, easing him back into this world. It didn’t judge, it was just persuasive, luring and sent a calmness through him.

Callum staggered back, his body feeling awkward and a mess of nerves and muscles. “You’ll go down for this!” Daniel said, spitting blood onto the concrete. “You’ll be trying to keep your back against the wall for a stretch of six for that stupid bint over there!”

The realisation that he may have gone too far this time, hit Callum. His dad would be so proud of him, but that would be little consolation when he was being dragged away in handcuffs.

Then there was a gasp and moan as Ben’s fist made contact with Daniel’s stomach, before he brought his knee up to knock him in the groin. The man’s breath was dripping out now, as the only thing holding him up was Ben’s grip on his collar. “You’re going to zip back in your little todger, go home and stick some frozen veg on those ribs,” he muttered out darkly. “Then you’re going to rest up for a few days. You ain’t going to bother her again, and you ain’t going to bother him again. You ain’t going to even sneeze in the direction of the coppers. Otherwise we might see how quickly that broken finger heals when your arm’s tied to a heavy rock at the bottom of the river. Do I make myself clear?”

“I don’t have a broken finger,” Daniel wheezed out defiantly.

The snap was audible, a crunching grinding followed by a shriek that would had been louder if Daniel’s throat wasn’t already horse with pain. “I understand you might have a bit of ringing in your ears. I can relate to that, so just this once I’ll ask again. Do I make myself clear?”

There was a slight nod, one that was accepting of defeat. Ben let go of his shirt, and the injured man immediately started to clamber down the street, not wanting to call the bluff that had been hurled his way. Callum watched as Ben gave him a momentary glance, one that insisted that now was not the time to talk, before making his way over to Judy.

“You alright?” Ben asked, his hand lingering over her shoulder gently. She nodded in his direction, pulling her dress down over her bare legs. “You want a lift home?”

“Yeah, please,” she said quietly, her voice more broken than he had ever heard it.

Ben gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll go get the car, bring it round to the back road so you don’t have to go back through the pub. Just give me a couple of minutes, yeah?”

He didn’t look at Callum as he started to stroll down the alley, and it hurt. It clawed at him, not seeing his eyes, not being the focus of his attention. He did deserve it though. He would have to take any punishment that came his way.

“What were you thinking, Jude?” he said, leaning against the wall. He knew that it sounded like he was blaming her, and he hated the words that escaped his mouth. “Coming down here with a fella like that?”

“What was I thinking?” Judy repeated, thick mascara track lines falling from her eyes. “What were you thinking? What’s going on in your head, Callum? Are you even using your brain?”

“You didn’t want that!” Callum argued back, flinging his arm towards the wall he found them at earlier. “I saw your face, Jude! What about Mo, eh? I thought you were supposed to be in love with him!”

Judy ran a hand through her hair, the strands sticking up in all directions, the light bouncing off the hay colouring. “Yeah, well things don’t always turn out how you want them, Callum. They almost never do. How would you know what I want anyway? You don’t even know what you want yourself.”

“I know you didn’t want that!” he said, taking a step closer to her. “Just tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Stop trying to save me, Callum!” she shouted, tears falling down her face with anger, the water droplets too tired to seem like sadness. “I’m not the one that needs it. Why don’t you try saving yourself first?”

Her heels clicked fiercely down the alley, leaving Callum by himself with his own thoughts. They would be punishment enough.

He’s not even sure how he ended up in the room above the bar. Callum had gone back into the pub, blood on his hands, and his hair hanging over his forehead. His dad jeered at him, teasing him about not being able to fight off a bin bag with out getting a few scrapes. He didn’t tell him what really happened, and how he’d lost it at some guy who worked with Dogger. He couldn’t tell him he was becoming like them, using his fists to hurt and hide what was buried beneath. Callum didn’t want the praise and the lauding that would accompany it. That’s not who he wanted to be. But what if that’s who he was?

Instead, he shirked up the stairs, after letting Steve know he was taking his break. Most of the boxes from the room had gone now, but he snuggled between a couple that were left. He finally felt his breathing ease. It had been pushing at his chest, knocking furiously while he walked through the bar, trying to remain composed.

He thought back to the conversation he and Ben had, before the events in the alley. About losing people. It wasn’t loss, not really. That made it all sound so gentle. It was a plundering and pillaging of a life that was pure and gentle, and not made for this dark world those innocents had wandered into. Not made for this hell that they had been lured into by people like Ben and him. They weren’t used to the fire, they weren’t used to the pain and the danger. They didn’t make it back down the path.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet, grabbing and finding the tatty notepaper that was stored there, next to a folded fifty pound note. It had been flat ironed by the press of the two sides encasing it in the hidden section, keeping it secret. Tape discoloured with time, held together its ripped pieces.

Callum ran a finger over the edge of the paper, the dulled surface causing no more than a scratch. Where did it all go wrong? When did his life suddenly take a different path? Ben was right about the good ones paying the price. Chris was one of the good ones, the best really. The pain in his side flared and pinched at the memory, and he tucked the letter back in his wallet. The last letter. The last ever letter. There would be no more now.

Taking another deep breath, Callum thought about his grandad. He had sat in this exact spot after his funeral. It had been a dulled service, full of morose faces and droning hymns, with a sullen poem read at the burial. The rain curtaining down in sheets around them at the graveside, the mist sneaking through in a darkened critical blue hue. It wasn’t who his grandad was. He had his pain, and he was certainly no saint; how could you be in this life? But there was always a shine that buckled through despite everything he had been through. Despite all he had lost.

Callum had sat here on that awful day, feeling so alone. His grandad was the only person who he thought could see all of him. Who really looked at Callum and knew who he was and accepted him, loved him and cherished him. He had never felt more alone than that day. Apart from this day. Now, that feeling was even worse. He’d lost Chris. Judy probably wouldn’t speak to him again, and then there was Ben.

Ben who was trying to push him away, the same as Callum was trying to push Ben away. That tether between them, though. That little invisible gold thread wouldn’t be broken, no matter how much they pulled in opposite directions. The only thing that struggle would cause would be pain.

It wasn’t long before they saw each other again. It was almost comical in its design; Callum behind the bar, while Ben and Judy sat at opposite ends. None of them were saying a word to each other, but they were all pulled here for some reason. None of them had to be here. Three broken souls drawn together.

Judy was sucking down the end of her vodka with a straw; she had been served by Ellie before he had arrived for his shift. Ben was still just sitting there, waiting expectantly. Callum was ignoring both of them. He was feeling shame from his actions the other night, but also the hurt that had started to fester in. They had left him alone in that ally with just his thoughts. Alone with the only person he didn’t want to be around.

The crackling of the straw soaking up the remnants of Judy’s drink was the only sound that echoed around them. She kept doing it, wanting to make it clear that she had finished. Callum refused to acknowledge the hint, the same way he wasn’t looking towards Ben’s eyes following his every breath as he tidied the bar.

Finally, one of them broke. “Who do you have to blow to get served around here?” Judy said, banging her glass against the bar. She looked a little more settled than she had the other day. She’d clipped her shortened hair up into a pointed ponytail, complete with shiny, glittering grips, keeping it in place. Her silver top glowed in the light, as the multiple metal bangles on her wrist jangled noisily with every movement.

Ben huffed out a laugh. “Don’t you look towards me!” he remarked back to her. “I don’t know where you’ve been, but I got a good idea.”

“Well instead of just sitting there while we’re both gasping,” Judy said, looking towards his way. “Why don’t you make those little pouty heart eyes you usually stare at him with? That might work. Or give him a good rimming. That’s got to be worth a couple of shots at least.”

“Will you two both stop it, please!” Callum finally called out, flinging the tea towel onto the bar. All he had to do was make it to the end of his shift with no disasters or arguments, and then he could go home to an empty flat. His dad and Stuart were away for a couple of days on a job, and he was looking forward to just the peace of a space where no one could disturb him and get into his head. “I am actually here!”

Judy leaned back victoriously. “Oh good, it speaks,” she proclaimed. “Maybe it will serve as well.”

“Whisky for me, and a pint of vodka and arsenic for the girl on the end dressed as a kettle whore,” Ben ordered with a smile in both their directions.

Judy tutted back at him, wobbling a little, as Callum poured out their drinks. She was already a little tipsy. “How much of it do I have to chuck over you for you to start melting? You’re a right one to question my fashion choices!”

Ben snorted. “Please, as if you’ll have any left to chuck anywhere. You’ll suck it down ten seconds after it’s put in front of you,” he replied, taking a sip of his whisky. “That’s your strategy in life though, ain’t it?”

“Are your flying monkeys waiting outside for you in the car, or do you just give them a whistle when you need them to do something for you?” she bit back, slurping up a little of her drink that Callum had set down in front of her.

“Why, did you want to get with one of them?” Ben replied. Callum couldn’t help but smile at their fighting, something that didn’t go unnoticed. “You’ve cheered up then. Thought I was going to have to stare at you looking woeful all afternoon.”

Callum thought he’d take the opportunity to fulfil a curiosity. “Do you want to tell me about what was bothering you the other day?”

Ben’s face fell immediately, as if he’d just been reminded about something he was trying to forget. “I’m going to pop and check on the car. Dolly Bird’s just reminded me I need to crack a window open to give the minions a bit of air.”

Callum shook his head and gave a grin, as Ben tapped the bar and then disappeared out the door. “He makes you happy,” Judy said softly. “I can see it in your face. That’s what happiness looks like. He’s got your heart, ain’t he?”

Giving a little nod, one that he could barely feel let alone anyone could see, sent a wave of calm flowing through his body. It was the most he could admit. It was all he could cope with for now. “What about your heart, Jude?” he said, turning the conversation away from himself. “Where’s that at?”

She took a gulp of her drink to buckle her nerves. “Fuck knows by now,” she said with a small shrug, as she turned her eyes down. “Ripped it out years ago, didn’t I? Been passed about so much, I probably wouldn’t recognise it if it got back to me. Who needs a heart though, eh?”

Callum gave her a soft smile and a quick pat of her hand. She downed her drink, before wobbling off her stool. “You alright?” he checked. “What’s happening between you and Mo?”

She nodded in his direction, though her eyes sunk to the ground. “Not worth crying over, Callum,” she said, though her words were all lies. “I’ve got a shift soon, so I’ll see you later, hon, yeah?”

Judy picked up her purse and staggered out, struggling a little with the door. Callum waited for Ben to come back, but he didn’t return. They had both begged him to talk, and then he’d scared them both off with just a few words.

The rain was pelting against the window pane. It was one of those nights that the heaven’s opened and you felt it was never going to stop. It was relentless in its attack of the earth, waiting to cover and flood.

Callum’s eyes fluttered open and closed, his mind sinking a little to calm, a precursor to the sleep that was soon to follow. Earlier, he’d dashed into the lift as soon as he reached the courtyard, preferring his journey upstairs to be under cover to keep him out the rain. The little container stank, and someone had drawn multiple penis pictures all over the door with milkshake. At least he hoped it was milkshake. He was reluctant to look too closely.

When he had got home, he’d sat in the lounge for a little while with a beer, just letting the quiet wash over him. It wasn’t long before the voices in his mind piped up with their comments, but the sips of alcohol helped to keep them a little quiet, at least for the moment.

Now, he was just laying down on his pillow listening to the rain that pattered against his window. It was starting to turn harsher every now and again, like a few bits of hail, all sharp and cold ice, were clattering against the glass. It just blended into the sound though, just drifting to the back of his mind.

When there was a buzzing next to him, Callum’s eyes shot open. It was gone one in the morning, who in their right mind would be texting him at that hour? His brain ran through all the options, but stopped on the one he just knew was the right answer.

That confirmation came when he picked up his phone, squinting in the dimmed light at the bright screen, as Ben’s name flashed at him.

_“Let me up, Buttercup.”_

Callum screwed up his face in confusion, before pulling himself out of bed and looking out the window. He couldn’t see anything. The courtyard was dark, and empty, just the building rippling puddles showing any movement at all. The droplets on the window were blocking his view though, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything properly until he was outside.

Quickly, he hurried to the front door, opening it with gusto, ready to step out into the rain. It stunned him a little that Ben was at his doorstep, his hair soaked through, with drips cascading down his face with a torrential force.

Callum didn’t say anything, he simply grabbed hold of Ben’s jacket and pulled him in. There was water building on the carpet, soaking in as it fell endlessly off the drenched clothing. He quickly dashed back to his room, rooting in his set of drawers, grabbing a towel and some clothes.

When he reached the hallway again, Ben was still standing there, as if stuck in time, frozen in a moment and not willing to move forwards, afraid of what might come next. Callum tenderly lifted his chin up, leaning down and placed the gentlest of lips there in a kiss. He could taste the freshness of the rain, the purity and clarity as it mingled with the texture of Ben’s mouth. There was a newness that hung between them.

Giving a soft smile, he loosely linked his own hand with Ben’s fingers and pulled him gradually towards the bathroom, giving him a gentle push to sit on the edge of the tub. He was still quiet, still silent, and it was strange. Callum knew there were words pursed right on the edge of Ben’s lips, ready to jump, but still clinging on, afraid of what they were falling into.

Callum rubbed at Ben’s hair with a towel, throwing it over his face teasingly which let out a little laugh from both of them, breaking the tension slightly. He pulled at Ben’s jacket, hanging it up on the clothes horse that was stacked against the bathroom wall. It wasn’t his usual leather one, but just a light black coat that still dripped relentlessly onto the floor.

Pointing towards the clothes he’d set on the closed toilet seat, he motioned to leave the room, giving Ben some privacy to get changed.

“I killed my boyfriend.”

They were so quiet, those words. They’d finally tumbled out and were hurtling to the ground, horrified at the fall. Callum stopped the steps he was making towards the door, turning back around to see Ben picking at the towel, staring at the floor. “How?” Callum asked, the only question he could think of throwing out with Ben’s falling words, trying to stop and catch them.

“We’d been out and we were holding hands, it was a few years ago, around this time. We were walking along the road and a few guys didn’t like the look of it and weren’t shy in saying so,” he admitted, his voice becoming a little clearer now, more firm in the memory now it was out. “Me being me, I couldn’t let it go and gave them some lip. They gave me a good hiding and beat him to death.”

Callum came and took a seat next to the clothes he’d put out, his knees knocking into Ben’s in the cramped space. He could feel the coolness of the water drenching Ben’s jeans, bleeding through to his own joggers. “You ain’t a killer,” he said softly, though he knew just words wouldn’t help convince the man in front of him. He’d probably heard them all before. “It weren’t your fault; you didn’t kill him. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“I have,” Ben replied more words tumbling out, as though they were escaping with ease now. He had thrown the first ones out, so he may as well let the rest fall to their fate. “I’ve been to prison, Callum. I killed a friend of mine. It weren’t on purpose. I didn’t mean to, but it happened.”

“You ain’t a killer,” Callum said with conviction, as Ben looked up at him with confusion. “I’m in the army, I’ve seen so many good people plagued with what they’ve done, knowing their actions have ruined lives. It ain’t an easy weight to bare.”

“I’m not a good man,” Ben replied, looking Callum in the eye as if that would help him understand. As if the depth and worlds hidden there could ever convince him.

“You ain’t a bad one,” Callum replied, even firmer this time. He just knew. “You’re like most of us. We’ve all made bad choices, we’ve all made decisions we regret. I saw some buttercups.”

Ben looked up at him, confused by the change in direction of the conversation. “What?”

Callum took a deep breath and leaned forward slightly. “When I went back to Afghanistan, I saw some buttercups. I’d volunteered for a patrol, and we was walking for what seemed like forever. We saw this red glow in the distance, and this field of poppies just seemed to appear from nowhere,” he said, a little halt in his voice as the memory was being pulled out of him. He needed to provide a parachute for Ben’s words and confession, and this was the only way he knew how. “We decided to stop for a bit, and I noticed all these little flowers dotted between the red, like a yellow path through. You could only see it there if you were looking for it.”

“You didn’t stop and pick them, did you?” Ben said, a grin appearing on his face at the thought.

“Nah,” Callum said, trying to return the smile, but knowing what was coming next. Knowing how the chapter of this story ended. Knowing that something beautiful would always have a danger glaring over it waiting to strike. “There was this group of locals, they had some children with them, must have been on their way home. The kids were playing some game, tag or something, dashing about in the field, laughing and smiling. There was this shouting all of a sudden. This field weren’t as simple as it looked.”

“There were mines?” Ben asked, but it was more a statement. Helping Callum with a part of the story he couldn’t articulate.

“Yeah. There were mines,” he replied, and his side tingled and stabbed at him. “I can’t even remember what happened. You know everyone always says that it was like everything was in slow motion? Well this weren’t that. It’s like everything was speeded up. I don’t know what happened in what order. Some of us rushed towards the kids, and some of them did and all. I just remember grabbing one of them, this little boy in a bright yellow shirt. I remember his mother screaming and screaming at me, so I just grabbed him and ran. Then she stopped screaming. Everyone did.”

“She make it?”

Callum shook his head. “No, there were a few who didn’t,” his voice choking up at the memory. “I look back and think, why didn’t I grab her and all? Why couldn’t I get everyone away, make them run like I did. You were right about me. I’m just a coward, running away from everything.”

Ben shuttled forward then, his hands reaching around to cup Callum’s face. They felt cold, his fingers on his warmed blushed skin, cool and pressing. They didn’t quite feel like him, not the warmness that always made Callum feel good. It was like they had changed places in that moment.

Ben started to pepper kisses around Callum’s face, as though he could take it all away with just those little movements. Drops of rain fell to Callum’s cheeks, transferred tears that ran down to his chin and joined those salty tracks making their way from his eyes, like an estuary meeting the sea.

Ben gave one long kiss to Callum’s forehead, before moving back with a crooked smile and sitting on the bath. There was more to the story that he wanted to tell Ben, so much more, but that was all he could let escape for now. “You should get out of those clothes,” he said, patting the fresh dry items next to him.

“I’ve had dreams about you saying that,” Ben smirked, as he stood up and started to undo his jeans.

Callum jumped up and head towards the door. “I’ll wait in my room. It’s the first one on the left.”

“I know,” Ben replied, pulling his shirt off as Callum tried to force his eyes away. “I was throwing rocks at it for about five minutes!”

“That was you?” Callum replied, the sounds before making sense now. “I thought it was a bit of hail.”

“Hail? You thought it was hail the size of horse balls, but just hitting the glass one at a time, and only on your window?” Ben said, shaking his head. “Go on! Get out! Go pretend that you’re too innocent to want to get your hands on me. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Callum left the bathroom, going to the fridge in the kitchen and grabbing out a couple of beers. Making his way back to the bedroom he took a long gulp from one, before placing the bottles down on the dressing table, and putting on some music. He realised he didn’t know what Ben liked, there was so much about his life that was kept locked away, that he had yet to find out. That was true for both of them though.

The bedroom door opened just as Callum was kneeling on the bed. Ben appeared in joggers that almost covered his toes and a t-shirt he was swimming in. His hair was still damp, and he looked slightly nervous, unsure of himself out of his armour, as he threw his damp clothes on the side.

There was an edge of nerve in Callum though and he ushered him over to stand by the bed, resting his forehead on Ben’s stomach when he arrived. His little finger pulled at the hem of the shirt, lifting it up a little to reveal a patch of smooth stomach. Callum darted his tongue out a little to taste the skin there, the buds tingling with the tickle of the flavour.

Ben’s stomach contracted and fluttered in front of him, the sensation clearly being felt. Callum was spurred on, lifting his shirt a little more and kissing along the trail to his belly button, feeling an encouraging hand at the back of his head. “First you want me in clothes, then you want me out of them,” Ben laughed. “Can’t make up your mind, can you?”

It stung a little bit, those words, though they were clearly in jest. There was more than an iota of truth in them though, and that was obviously stuck in both their minds. Callum tried to put that to the back of his head for now, aware that it would come back with a ferocity at some point. It had to.

Callum moved one of his hands around, brushing it up and down Ben’s bum, while he rested the other one on his hip, placing his cheek next to it. Doing something like this was always such a fearful action in his head. In his fantasies it seemed like it would be awkward; something he could easily mess up. It felt natural though, and he nudged his nose in closer to the joggers, brushing the side of Ben’s cock.

Feeling brave, he lifted his hand and started to trace Ben through the scratchy material with a gentle finger, while his mouth pressed kisses moulding out the shape there. The hand on his neck scratched a little more insistently and there was a rumbling purr escaping from Ben’s chest.

Callum could feel Ben getting harder through the trousers, more solid and full, as he still mouthed his cock through the cloth. The fingers stroking his neck went lower, and moved to go under his t-shirt. Callum lept back on reflex, his body taking over and leaving his mind confused, almost as if he’d been electrocuted.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, holding his hands out, as though he was approaching a wild animal. “Is it your side?”

Callum bit his lip, hard. He didn’t understand why he was feeling like this. It was just something else to hide. It was almost like it all his secrets and flaws had travelled to the fading wound there, festering and infecting away all in one place. The epicentre of his pain and fear. He couldn’t seem to show it to Ben, even thought he wanted to. It felt too much.

“It’s fine,” he said, scootching back closer to Ben, looking down at the blanket as he moved to pull at his joggers. He could just swallow down the ache in his side, the prickle and curse that was hissing into his skin. He shouldn’t have talked about the field earlier. It just bought everything back. Afghanistan, the kid and his mother. Chris. It just all bubbled to the surface.

Ben pushed his hand away though, moving instead to sit on the bed next to Callum. “It obviously ain’t,” he replied softly, rubbing his hand on his thigh. “We ain’t doing this tonight.”

“Don’t you fancy me?” he asked. He has wondered it since the moment he met Ben. This stupid, childish feeling of wanting to know if he thought about him, if he imagined kissing him and wanting him, just the way Callum had. “I know I ain’t got much experience-“

“It’s nothing to do with that,” Ben said, and he moved his fingers over to hold Callum’s hand. “Of course I fancy you! You think I’m hanging around that grotty pub cause I’m hoping to get my face smashed in? You just ain’t in the right head space tonight.”

“Will you stay?” Callum asked, his voice sounding pathetic and needy to his ears. He didn’t want to be alone.

“Yeah, course! You think I’m gonna go strolling around east London in trackies that are too big for me at two o’clock in the morning when it’s pissing it down? Come on, get in.”

Ben lifted up the covers of the bed, moving in before he motioned for Callum to do the same. The both settled on their sides, the tiny single bed giving them no choice but to be pressed up against each other, their noses just inches away on the pillow.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Callum said softly, stroking his finger around Ben’s cheek, just grazing the faded bruise there. “I like having you here.”

“I was wrong, you know,” Ben said, his eyes like pools of warming water, flecks of gold peeking through the deep aqua. “You’re a good person. You grew up in this place, this soul killing arsehole of a place, and you still ended up being you. That makes you braver than anyone.”

The last image that Callum remembered was a soft nose pressed against his own, gentle fingers linking together, and blush lips brushing his mouth. Everything else becoming fuzzy as he drifted off. Nothing else mattered.

The only reason he woke up was because there was a sudden coolness over one side of his body, the warmth and cosiness that had calmed him while he slept had suddenly disappeared. Shuffling his eyes open, he remembered he hadn’t gone to sleep alone last night. For the first time in his life, he had been curled up next to someone. For the first time in his life, his dreams melted and swooned quietly in his head.

Ben was just pulling on his shirt, his back to the bed. “You running out on me?” Callum asked, his vice husky and scraped with sleep.

Turning around as he did up his jeans, Ben came back over to the bed and leaned over, giving Callum a kiss, lingering his lips there for just a second. “I’ve gotta run. My contacts are now fused to my eyes, and I’ve got to go collect a delivery at the pub,” he said, giving Callum another two quick pecks, rubbing his thumb over his cheek as he leaned back and smiled.

“The pub?” Callum asked, straining to lift himself up. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get it to fall into place. “The Pig?”

Ben shook his head as he adjusted his collar. “No, my family owns a pub in Walford,” he said, checking his pockets to make sure he had everything. “The Queen Victoria?”

Callum had heard that name before, but he couldn’t quite place it at the moment, his mind to addled with sleep and the bliss of holding someone all night. “I didn’t know you lived in pub!” he said, shaking the duvet off. “What else don’t I know?”

Ben just simply smiled at him. “The lift alright to get down in?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, it was working last night,” he replied, his face falling a little at the thought of Ben leaving. “Got some interesting art work in there!”

“I can imagine!” he said, before taking in Callum’s face. “Listen, I’ve got to deal with this thing at the pub for a few hours, but do you want to meet later?”

Callum nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly, but he didn’t care. He followed Ben out into the hallway towards the front door. “You want me to come to you?”

“No, I’ll come pick you up. Just outside the station at eleven? Be ready, I ain’t getting a ticket waiting ‘cause you’ve been spending hours doing your hair. I’ll see you then, yeah?”

Callum leaned down, pulling Ben into a kiss, cupping his face with his hands to keep him there just that little longer. “I’ll see you later.”

As soon as the door slammed shut behind Ben, Callum scuttled quickly back to his bedroom, going straight to the window with a huge smile. He glanced to the discarded clothes that Ben had borrowed last night, laying across the carpet, and they couldn’t help make him happy. It was like a torrid, bumpy chapter was rewarded with a beautiful ending. It felt like nothing could go wrong, he was riding on this feeling, this wave of spending the night in someone’s arms. It was unimaginable to him before. Now it was the only thing he wanted.

He cricked his neck to peer down into the courtyard, waiting for Ben to appear. He hoped he hadn’t got stuck in the lift. Movement caught his eye, but his shoulders sank when he realised it wasn’t Ben, just someone else coming in the other direction.

Someone that was waving up at him with a smile. Stuart. His brother was making his way towards the stairs that lead to the flat. All the height of feeling that Callum had experienced suddenly bolted, dashed away in just a few seconds. Crumbling and melting like snow turning to muddy sludge.

There was a little hope that perhaps Stuart would make it across the courtyard before Ben exited the lift door. That was soon dashed though, as he saw Ben saunter out, heading towards the other end of the estate. He didn’t see Stuart, his back was to him, but Callum’s brother certainly saw Ben, and he gazed back to the window his teeth gritted and his eyes looking ready for murder.

This wasn’t the ending to the chapter that Callum had hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @blueangel0909 on twitter
> 
> @moodyblueangel on tumblr
> 
> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	11. The Front Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Callum's world isn't the nicest, so please heed the warnings and tags!

Looking out the window, it was like everything froze for just a second as he saw Stuart grit his teeth at Ben’s retreating form. Callum clawed at the window, as though he could control their movements from behind his curtain. As if he had that power. He was ineffective from his position though, and all he could do was let his heart thud against his chest. Callum knew he had to go downstairs, had to belt his way to the courtyard and hope that Ben was still in one piece by the time he got there.

As he was about to move away from the window, he stopped. Stuart wasn’t following Ben. He was letting him leave, and instead making his way to the external stairs that led to his flat. His brother wasn’t going to confront Ben. Stuart’s target was Callum himself.

It was like the clock in the lounge had suddenly started ticking at a horrendous volume, each movement of the hand was like driving a nail into his brain. Each second seemed to drag as he waited for the sound of the door opening, as he waited for the approaching footsteps.

Callum tried to act natural, standing in front of his vinyl and browsing them like he was about to choose a record to play. That’s when he heard the squeak of the front door, and the slow thud of each step as it got closer and closer.

“Alright, Stu,” he said, casually looking at a track list on the back of the cardboard container. “I thought you was away for another day.”

His brother just leaned against the wall and stared. It must have been a minute before any sound left his mouth and entered the room. “What was he doing here?” Stuart asked quietly, in a tone that usually wasn’t reserved for Callum.

“Who’s that, mate?” he asked in return, trying to keep the timbre of his voice level. He had a lot of practice with this. Lying and deceiving. He just hoped it would fool the person who knew him best.

Stuart started shaking his head, the lie clearly not fooling him. “You know who! Mitchell! He was coming out from here!” he said, pointing his finger towards Callum. “And don’t say he was visiting one of the neighbours; I weren’t born under a half moon, Bruv!”

“Ben? He was just dropping off some money he owed me,” Callum said, taking the record out and placing it on the machine. “What? I ain’t allowed to have mates now?”

There wasn’t even a blink due in Stuart’s eyes as Callum felt studied and judged. “At this time of the morning, he was delivering cash he owed you?” he said sceptically. “That don’t sound right, Callum. You know what he’s like.”

“He’s a mate!” Callum replied, loosing a little bit of a grasp of the situation. “I’m allowed to have friends!”

“You know what he is!” Stuart insisted, stepping closer and taking Callum by the arm. He quickly swung the touch off and his brother held his hands up in apology. They had both been through too much to start any aggression like that between them. “It’s not good for you to be around people like that, Callum.”

“He’s a mate!” he repeated. “I can have a mate, even if you don’t like them. Your friends ain’t exactly boy scouts are they?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Stuart said quietly and thoughtfully. “You swear he was just dropping off money?”

Callum bit the inside of his cheek. “I swear.”

Stuart gave a nod. “Alright then,” he submitted. “I’ll tell you what, how about I go have a shower and then we go get a bit of breakfast? We can go out of town a bit, try that fancy place we passed the other week. What do you think?”

Callum nodded enthusiastically. He would have to change his plans with Ben, but at least he could placate his brother.

As soon as Stuart shut the door, Callum scurried to find his phone, typing out a message asking Ben if they could swap meeting until the same time tomorrow. He hit send, and then tucked his phone back into his pocket when the door flung open with an almighty slam.

There was an item thrown on the bed, and as soon as Callum saw it he closed his eyes, not wanting to look up at the anger seething off his brother’s face. “So when he came round just to the door this morning, he hang up his jacket in the bathroom did he? Got Mr Tickle arms that can reach through the flat, has he?” Stuart started to look around the room, spotting something on the side. “You get a bit thirsty and decide to open two beers last night and not finish them? Don’t lie to me, Callum!

“I’m not!” he called back. He couldn’t help it. He knew it was clear what had happened. That didn’t make it any easier to say the words and admit it though. He didn’t know how.

“I saw you two in the pub!” Stuart shouted out. “The night before you went back to the army, I came in to help you close up! You were there with him, your hands all over each other!”

It had been Stuart. Alan hadn’t been lying, it wasn’t him. “Why didn’t you say anything then?” he asked meekly. He didn’t understand how Stuart could know this about him and not say a word. He didn’t understand what he achieved by keeping it to himself.

“Cause you was going back to the army the next day!” he replied, holding his head. “I hoped it was done, what ever it was! I knew he was perving all over you! I knew he wouldn’t stay away! I warned him! What if dad finds out, eh? What do you think will happen then?”

“You tried to keep him away?” Callum asked, slipping down onto the floor. He pulled his knees up close to him, hugging them to his chest. “Why?”

Stuart’s faced softened a little, and he heaved himself to the floor to joining his brother. “Look, I get you have these ‘urges’. I can’t say I understand why you have them, but I know you do. But bruv, not him,” he said softly, begging. “Not a bloke like him. A boy like that will break you. He ain’t good. He’s just wicked through and through.”

Callum looked around nervously, smiling awkwardly at every face that passed. He felt over dressed, wearing his best shirt and had washed his best jeans especially, waiting outside the tube stop at eleven o’clock in the morning on the dot. The pollution and dust seeped out the entrance with every traveller that passed.

Ben had replied to his request to postpone yesterday, saying that he was a little caught up and the next day would be better for him too. He didn’t sound upset, and he didn’t ask why the change in day. Callum wasn’t going to tell him about the conversation with Stuart yesterday. He didn’t even want to acknowledge it himself. The fact that his brother knew a little more about him than he thought was unnerving. His warnings about Ben, even more so. He needed to make up his own mind though. He needed to find out for himself, when the other man eventually arrived.

In truth, he didn’t even know what he was looking out for, as he squinted down the road at the traffic coming his way. He’d never actually seen Ben’s car. A thought popped in his head that he should have asked Judy if she could identify it, but he knew he’d regret that decision when she turned up and started trying to give moral support, buzzing around him and loudly panicking him even further. Instead, he just waited, his foot tapping on the pavement with every second that passed.

He brushed his hand through his hair, though it was gelled into place and there was little breeze to knock it out of its style. Every time he stopped his hand, he could feel his palm fill up with sweat in a clammy mess. The moths fluttering furiously in his stomach were relentless. They reminded him of the one that was in his room the night before. It kept on flapping and flustering around his head, like it was trying to tell him something, trying to get his attention. He just used his arm to keep knocking it away.

When he woke up that morning, he noticed a still mark on the light sheet. It was the moth, now no longer alive, now rested eternally. The fluttering and movement that it has been bothering him with the previous evening wasn’t just trying to get his attention. It was screaming and shrieking at him. It knew what was happening and was trying to fight its way against the inevitable. Giving one final push for survival before just slipping back and letting go.

That wasn’t the ones that currently moved around his tummy, bobbing up and down from his throat and sending the movement from their wings blowing all around his body. Callum wished he had something to settle his nerves, these ridiculous exciting fears about going for drive with a boy he liked plaguing him all over.

Finally, a car slowed and lifted its wheels up on the kerb just in front of him. Callum raised his eyebrows as a green Ford Escort, that was probably a decade older than its driver, was signalling for him to get in. With a smile on his face, he opened the door, pleased it didn’t come off in his hand, and sat down in the passenger seat. Ben beamed out at him, and Callum had an overwhelming desire to lean over and peck him on the lips in greeting. He stopped himself though, wary that they were in the middle of a busy street in broad daylight.

Callum could see Ben’s disappointment; sense it seep through in the close quarters of the car, but he soon turned his attention back to the road. The car pulled out with a choking roar, as Callum clicked his seatbelt into place. “I’m a very good driver, you know,” Ben said, now sending a look of amusement towards where his passenger was clinging on to the strap. “You don’t have to look like I’m about to hurtle you around Silverstone at top speed.”

“No, it’s fine,” Callum replied, as he took a deep breath. The scent of faded petrol fumes and battered leather hit his palette. There was a must of smoke and gunmetal rust which lingered in the background. Then there was Ben, his distinct earthiness merging with a hit of sweetness that always felt like home. “You just hear a lot of stories about these old cars, don’t you? I’m sure I read that you’re three times as likely to be decapitated in a twentieth century car than a modern day one.”

“Well that’s a positive start to the day,” Ben replied with a smirk. “Just duck if we go under a bridge and you’ll be fine. I take it you’re having a pop at my car?”

“Just not what I imagined,” Callum replied, as they hit the road, heading out of London. “Bit old, ain’t it?”

“I’m saving up, thank you very much!” Ben said, shaking his head. There was no offence caused though, Callum could see that and he reached out to stroke down Ben’s face with the back of his hand. “This is just a runaround for a couple of months.”

“It’s got a tape deck,” Callum said, reaching and fiddling with the buttons before getting his hand smacked away. “What you think I’m going to break it? It looks like the newest thing in the whole car.”

“In a second, I’m going to turn around and go back!” Ben exclaimed, knocking Callum’s hand away again when he tried to eject the tape. “That’s if you’re lucky. I might just chuck you out in the middle of road!”

Callum leaned back in his seat and reached out and started brushing along Ben’s face again, feeling the scratchiness of his stubble contrasting with the soft freckles on his cheeks. He couldn’t take his eyes away, compelled by the movements of his own fingers and the visceral feeling of the textures buzzing through to his brain, clicking and connecting to his desires there. The fulfilment of touching something that you wanted to, rather than just let the though linger around your head with the promise never met, was addictive.

Moving his fingers round, he started to scratch his nails gently through Ben’s hair, tickling the scalp. The window was open just slightly and the freshness of the country air was circling in, replacing the faded artificial pine emitted by the hanging air freshener. Ben moved his hand over to Callum’s thigh, rubbing it gently as his face flickered with contentment. It was soft and peaceful, but Callum’s thumping pulse and the darkness in Ben’s eyes suggested it was more than what it seemed. They were always just a tick away from crashing; perhaps dangerously, perhaps wonderfully, but always with an impact and excitement.

After a few more minutes, Ben indicated and pulled the car into a layby, again parking most of the car off the road. He tugged the handbrake into place with a popping click and motioned to take his seatbelt off. “We’re stopping here?” Callum asked, peering out the window. There was nothing but emptiness over one side of the car, and on the passenger side there was just other cars whizzing past them, secured in with a cluster of wooded trees in a fierce barrier to the road. “There ain’t anything about!”

“Just trust me, yeah?” Ben said, as the car door groaned as he got out. Callum did the same the other side, slivering through the small opening he made against the road and walking by to join Ben, who had grabbed a bag from the car. He gripped it with one hand, and then held the other out to Callum.

There was a moment when Callum almost thought twice. The idea of walking along with someone hand in hand seemed like the height of intimacy, an act that was linking and connecting in a way that wasn’t just physical. He didn’t linger too long though and firmly grasped the outstretched fingers, not wanting to let go now they were formed into one.

They strolled in silence, the tingling of the dewy grass hitting his nose and the slight caressing breeze just blowing a gentle comfort onto his skin. Eventually Ben stopped and shuffled himself to the ground to sit without any delicacy. He pulled Callum with him, and as his bum hit the soil, he shoes squeaked slightly as they squished the grass under his weight. Ben rested his arms on his knees and just appeared to be content to gaze out into the distance, his hair framed by the power of the blue sky that seemed to look at his eyes and sense a familiar soul. He looked like he belonged here, becoming a part of the nature as if he were a product of the earth itself. “What we doing here?” Callum asked.

Ben gave a shrug, as if he were suddenly shy to admit to his reasoning. “I was thinking about what you was saying the other day, about what happened in Afghanistan,” he admitted. “I just wanted to take it away, get you out of that memory and in to a good one. So I brought you to a field that ain’t got no poppies, and one that’s just peaceful and full of buttercups.”

Callum looked at the little flowers that speckled the grass around them, pulling one from its roots and twirling it round in his fingers. “You know these are daisies, right?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows towards Ben.

“Fuck off! Do I look like Alan Titchmarsh?” he replied, with a roll of his eyes and a harsh purse to his mouth. He grabbed a hand full of grass and threw it in Callum’s direction, a few of the blades landing on his arm. “It’s the best I could do! Do you know how long it look me to find this one?”

Callum gently brushed the grass off his arm and then leaned into Ben’s side with a smile, finding the fact he was now turning his head away and sulking, positively endearing. “Also, peaceful?” he said, nodding his head behind them. “We’re right on the bypass. I think we’re on the flight path to Stanstead, and all.”

Ben just turned his body further away, refusing to meet Callum’s eyes, just flinging his middle finger up at him. Callum grinned and then started to pick a few daisies, leaning over and weaving them through Ben’s hair. Eventually, he was caught and Ben turned around with a scowl of his eyes, pushing back Callum with some force until he fell onto his back with a bubble of laughter.

It built in him, coming out in starting chuckles and then escaping in loud bursts that wouldn’t stop, the sensation sending a pain shooting to his stomach as the muscles contracted and rippled with delight. He closed his eyes, the feeling of tears building at the corners, but not the stinging salty drops he was used to. They tingled with lightness and joy, and he didn’t ever remember a time he let himself laugh so freely, so uninhibited in his emotion. With the air bouncing around his cheeks and the sweet, crisp grass tickling the back of his neck, he felt alive.

He didn’t need to open his eyes to realise that Ben had tucked himself under his arm and laid his head on Callum’s chest, rubbing soft circles into his belly that soothed any of the harmless pain that resided there from the power of the laughter. “You’re a force of nature, you know that?” Ben said, pressing and melding himself into Callum’s side. “You’re like a tornado that just captures and pulls you in. It weren’t your fault, you know, what happened in Afghanistan. Did someone you know get killed?”

Callum’s laughter started to tingle away as that memory came washing back. He simply nodded in confirmation to Ben’s question as it all flooded towards him. The field, Chris, the explosion, Afghanistan, the army, his side, the kids and the screaming mother. The poppies. It couldn’t be forgotten. It would always be remembered. “Thought you were trying to get my mind off it?” he mumbled back, giving Ben’s hair a gentle rub to know he wasn’t being critical.

“I am,” Ben said, his words muffled into Callum’s shirt. “I’m here for whatever you want.”

They lay there for a while, perhaps moments, perhaps even longer. Eventually, Callum opened his eyes, looking off to the distance. Right on the skyline, there was a little farm house, a weather vane towering above, with a old wooden fence sequestering the property off. He wondered if anyone lived there, it looked at least eighty years old and could be abandoned. Callum thought about how he’d feel living there, out in the open, free to just wander in vast fields under the sky. The thought of someone else living there with him hit his mind as well, but he brushed it away quickly. Some daydreams were just too vibrant to keep.

“What’s in the bag?” Callum asked, his voice low and heavy. He nodded towards the white plastic carrier that was fluttering in the wind next to their feet. He wasn’t even sure that Ben was awake. His breathing was regular and calm, and he was still in Callum’s arms. It wasn’t until his voice mumbled out that he realised he had heard him. “I brought us a picnic.”

Callum’s lips quirked into a smile again. “It’s a carrier from Spar; it don’t look like a picnic.”

Ben raised his head, just enough to glare at Callum. “What did you want me to do? Go prancing along the road carrying a wicker basket and a gingham cloth? I don’t see you bringing anything along!”

Callum sat up slowly, with Ben grumbling about having to move out of his comfortable position. He grabbed the thin carrier and brought it towards him, peering in curiously. “It’s just a couple of cans of larger!” he said with a grin, getting them out and passing one to Ben. “Not your traditional picnic, is it?”

“Well you’re a cheap date, aren’t you?” he said with a smirk, as he opened his can with a fizz and a click. “Come on, down in one!”

“Oh, we’re racing are we?” Callum said, opening his beer and clinking it against Ben’s can briefly. “Come on then!”

They both started chugging their larger down. Callum knew he was a lightweight, but you didn’t grow up where he did without being able to down a pint quickly. He’d feel it in his head soon after, but his competitiveness kicked in. He gulped down the final mouthful, sticking the can on his head for good measure as he heard Ben swear loudly.

“It’s not a fair fight! You’re in the army, they teach you soldier boys to do that on the first day of training don’t they?” he replied, hurling his can across the field in annoyance.

“Don’t do that!” Callum said, watching it sail into the grass. “What if an animal finds it?”

“Are you actually worried that there’s going to be some sheep, plastered on half a can of larger, stumbling along the motorway and sticking up a hoof to the passing motorists?” Ben replied, before giving a conceding sigh. “I’ll go pick it up later. You ain’t had the rest of your picnic yet!”

Callum frowned and grabbed the white plastic bag, that only had a little weight to it. He stuck his nose back in, reaching inside and pulling out a small item. “It’s a lollipop,” he said with a smile, as Ben leaned back on his hands. The breeze was floating and gently moving his hair, and Callum was almost jealous of the element and its closeness to the man. “I ain’t seen one like this since I was a kid!”

“I know you got a thing about sweet things,” Ben replied with a shrug, as Callum ripped the plastic off. “It’s a whistle and all, so you can round up any bladdered sheep. You just put your lips together and blow.”

Callum rolled his eyes at the comment, but still moved his mouth over the lolly, sucking it gently towards him as he closed his eyes as the sweetness hit after the richness of the larger still covered his palette. He gave it a few long drags to his lips before releasing it with a pop. “It’s strawberry,” he said, before looking at Ben, heavy eyed and chewing at his lips like he was deciding on something. He held out his hand. “You want some?”

It was like a lion leaping out of the reeds, pouncing on its prey, and Callum didn’t realise his back was solid to the ground until he heard the thump. Ben’s nose was millimetres from his own, as his thighs were straddled either side of Callum’s hips. He was delaying the inevitable, relishing in the anticipation as his breath blew warmly and in short bursts.

It was slower than Callum expected, Ben leaned in tentatively and dragged his lips over Callum’s, quickly dipping his tongue out before sucking on the bottom one gently. He pulled back just a little, a grin quirking at the corners of his mouth. “Definitely strawberry,” he confirmed with a smile, before his eyes flared and he leaned back in quickly now, pawing and clawing at Callum’s body and rocking his hips when Callum held one hand in his hair and the other at his hips setting a pace.

Ben rolled off him slightly, without needing to lose contact at their mouths and pulled them both so they were on their sides. Callum wasn’t surprised when he felt a hand at his jeans, he was already getting hard, already pumping blood to the place that was needed, as the alcohol blurred his head and just made the thumping pulse in his cock feel more defined. The sensations everywhere else in his body had a lightness and a goodness that couldn’t be imagined.

He thrust up into Ben’s fingers as he was deftly undoing his fly, while moving rhythmically into his mouth, slow and dirty, every slide and motion making audible sounds. Callum’s brain couldn’t quite catch up with the actions, and before he couldn’t even think abut it, he felt Ben’s hand on his dick, confidently stroking him, and feeling like a thousand little kisses all in one area. It was overwhelming, and so different to his own hand. It was like pops of colour exploding around him and he felt it in every corner and crevice, right down to the nail on his little toe. The nerves in his body were on fire with a blend of flames and shattered ice, the burn toasting him rather than charring.

There was a contrast though, as a cool bite hit his cheek, and then another, and then another. Both he and Ben looked up at the same time, as the drops of water started to fall quickly now, gaining pace and vigour. “Oh, you have got to be shitting me!” Ben complained, as he moved his hand from Callum’s trousers. He couldn’t help but groan at the loss of contact, as he fell back slightly to earth a little, but the need still craved through his body. “Quick, come on!”

Callum stood up, his legs a little unsteady, and did up his trousers, before grabbing Ben’s outstretched hand. He took off at a pace, laughing a little, and Callum’s feet finally came back to life as he caught up. “We’ve left behind our picnic basket!” he called out, as the water fell around them in buckets now, and the white plastic carrier started to flutter away in the increasing wind.

“It’s fine! It’ll give the sheep something to chuck up in later!” Ben called back as they reached the car. He stuck the key in the door, opening it up when he heard the click. He motioned for Callum to climb in, and he did with great difficulty, banging his knee on the wheel. He felt a pinch at his bum, and as he reached his seat he glanced back to see Ben clambering in with a smirk.

There wasn’t any hesitation as they both launched back into the kiss, hands flying everywhere and pulling each other as close as they could in the cramped surroundings. A loud honk of a lorry passing, startled them out of the moment. “Right, we need to get out of here,” Ben said, fumbling with his keys with shaky fingers. He turned on the engine, before hitting the windscreen wipers and pulling out into the traffic.

Callum didn’t want to stop though, he wanted to keep contact and keep the wave of want that pulsed though him. He leaned over pressing his lips to Ben’s neck, sucking softly on the skin there, nipping gently and taking the reddened area between his lips soothing it and drawing it towards his tongue. His hand moved to Ben’s jeans, rubbing his dick quickly and without delicacy, wanting to get him out his trousers as soon as possible. He wondered if it felt the same for Ben as it did for him, whether there was even a hint of the same amount of intensity that ran and shrieked through his own body.

He felt a little shove at his ribs. “Callum, you have to stop for a second, otherwise we’re going to add to those statistics about crashing in old cars, “ Ben said, his voice horse, as he gently rubbed Callum’s thigh in conciliation. “Please.”

They bumped down a backroad for a minute or two. Callum had to keep biting his lip, keep forcing the feeling to somewhere else in his body. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ben though, who was chewing at his cheek and couldn’t seem to keep his legs and lower body still, wriggling around his seat. He never looked towards Callum.

Eventually he swerved into a little side lane, hidden out of view. They hadn’t seen another car all the way down here, and it was covered in greenery as emerald leaves fluttered around them. As soon as the engine powered off, he heard Ben’s belt click and then he was on Callum’s lap, attacking his mouth, leaving them both gasping and gulping for breath after a few minutes. Ben started rocking his hips pressing down as close as he could, as the call for breath turned into gasps that dragged and crumbled in Callum’s ears.

It wasn’t enough though. It wasn’t close enough, and he knew Ben could sense that too, as he reached around to the side and started to wrench at various levels and nozzles there. Suddenly, he leaned back with a whine. “Shit! They don’t work, I forgot about that!” he exclaimed, while his hips couldn’t help but to still rock into Callum, trying to get the friction to sweeten.

“Probably regret not getting a bigger and better car now, don’t you,” Callum said with a grin, leaning forwards and pecking Ben’s swollen lips when they scowled back at him.

“In the back, now!” he ordered, clambering out the car, and dragging Callum with him. Before he could get in the backseat, Ben stopped him leaning up to slowly kiss him as he undid his jeans, before doing the same to his own.

The backseat wasn’t much better than the front of the car, but they had enough room to manoeuvre slightly, pressing up against each other and continuing kissing. Callum couldn’t stop; it was the most addictive feeling and he knew this was a deep hole he was falling into.

As in the field, Ben reached into Callum’s trousers, which were lowered now with his boxers, and pulled out his cock, increasing the pressure with each stroke before Callum let out a moan. Ben quickly pulled his hand off for an excruciating second, bringing his fingers to his mouth before putting his whole hand around the base and giving a twist with every stroke that almost had Callum falling off the seat.

As he let his mouth fall open, Ben was still planting it with kisses with every movement, not all of them hitting their target. Callum cupped Ben’s cheek, feeling overwhelmed by the hand on his dick, and the way his muscles in his leg were starting to tremble with the intensity. He stopped holding in each tortured moan, and they grew even louder and Ben started to draw each of his fingers into his mouth sucking salaciously on each digit, taking them fully into his lips and swirling his tongue, matching the rhythm of his hand.

Callum was close to falling apart, when Ben slowed the tempo a little and he could breathe slightly, air feeling rare and precious. A hand gripped his wrist, and moved it lower and before he even realised, he found himself with his fist around Ben’s cock.

He couldn’t say he naturally knew what to do, so he just followed the rhythm that Ben was setting, liking the feeling of his dick in his hand, the swell and twitch drawing his attention. He heard a slight wince when he got to rough around the head, so moved his other hand to gently roll Ben’s balls in his fingers, mimicking the action that he enjoyed himself.

Ben sped up his motion and there was a pinball of electric ricocheting around Callum’s body. He knew he wasn’t giving Ben the same kind of attention, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t used to feeling like this, to have every fibre crackle and to be pushed further and further to the edge. He moved his mouth closer to Ben’s, not even really kissing, just exchanging moans in with tongues and lips that couldn’t keep still.

He knew he should have warned Ben, should have said he was close, but he didn’t want him to stop. This feeling could never end, he never wanted it to. It just felt like he should stay on this cliff edge forever. Eventually though, he felt the land disappear beneath his feet and his heart jumped to his throat as he cried out loudly, perhaps words, perhaps just uttered noises, he didn’t know. He just fell and fell until eventually the ground came into view and everything slowed.

Callum dropped his forehead on to Ben’s shoulder as everything in the car came back to him, reappeared after disguising in invisibility. He was aware that his fist was still around Ben’s dick, which was weeping and wanton, and needed attention. He slowly started to stroke him again, his lethargic muscles slow and lazy but enticed by the view and action. It felt powerful doing this on someone else. Not experiencing the feeling it would cause, but hearing the outcome as Ben’s moans regularly popped out his mouth. One of his hands held Callum’s lips to his neck, where he was planting sloppy kisses, and the other wrapped around Callum;s fingers where he was stroking him, encouraging him to move in a different rhythm.

His eyes were heavy, and his body sated, but seeing their hands together moving up and down Ben’s length made him suck on his lip and run his fingers through the other man’s hair, tugging and pulling slightly, keeping the motion continuous when their hands sped up and the moaning grew louder.

They both gave three small strokes and then Ben was coming over their hands. Callum thought he heard his name, he hoped he did, but he didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want the doubt to be clarified. He wiped his hand down his best shirt, and they both just dropped as far down as they could onto the seats. Still.

They seemed to be there forever, as the sensation came down and the afterness kicked in. The windows were steamed, and they could still hear the raining beating down on the roof of the car. The whole world was shut out; Callum couldn’t see any of it. It was like it wasn’t there. It was just them and no one else would ever walk this earth again. Callum didn’t feel unhappy at the thought.

“You ain’t gonna run out on me again, are you?” Ben’s voice rumbled sleepily against his chest. “A boy can get a complex if that happens too often, you know.”

Callum gave a chuckle. He didn’t want to go anywhere. “Is that why you brought me out in the middle of nowhere? So I couldn’t escape? I could probably outrun this car though, to be fair,” he replied, giving Bens hair a tickle.

“Oi! I think this car’s held up alright given what we’ve just done. Better than that booth in the pub!” he teased, giving Callum a pinch in the side. He sat up quickly with a wince. “Shit! Fuck! I’m sorry! Are you alright? It weren’t hurting during was it?”

Callum shook his head, as Ben tried to lift his shirt to look at his scar. He quickly covered the other man’s hand with a gentle squeeze, motioning him to drop the material. “No, it was fine. Just been in the same position for too long. That’s all. We should probably get going soon. I’ve got a shift in the pub soon.”

Ben gave him a kiss on the forehead, and then gave a groan as he lifted himself off the seat and pulled his trousers back up. “Alright then, I suppose we should get back. We can’t stay here forever. Gotta go back sometime.”

Callum nodded. You always had to fall back down to earth eventually.

Judy was waiting at the bar that day, her cheeks pink and blushed. She was sipping at her vodka, the alcohol blushing to her cheeks. Although, the beige coloured fluffy jumper couldn’t have helped. It only had short sleeves, but there was a heat wave outside now the rain had stopped, and she certainly didn’t look appropriately dressed for the weather.

“What are those on your arms, Jude?” he asked, serving her another crystal class of vodka and cranberry. He squinted his eyes at the the tubed material that covered from her wrists to her elbows. They were a slightly darker golden brown than her sweater, and looked like they could itch and scratch, especially in this temperature.

She folded her arms, a little defensively, giving a shy smile. As much as she ever could be described that way. He didn’t know how else to label it, but shy. It was like it had another name lurking behind there. “They’re arm warmers. Well leg warmers that Mae gave me, but they work just as well on your arms,” she said proudly.

“Ain’t you hot?” Callum replied. He was sweltering in the bar, the heat dredging out the stench of sweat and rank bitterness of stale ale. The slight whiff of nicotine, embedded from a generation ago, steamed up from the carpets. “I’m baking in just this t-shirt.”

“Feel free to whip it off! I’ll shove a sexy track on the jukebox; you can put a bit of a show on for the regulars,” she said, shaking her messy mane of hair. “Or are you just saving your bod for your fella?”

Callum tutted at her. “He ain’t my fella,” he replied, twirling a beer mat around in his hands.

Judy reached out and grabbed his hand. “Say that again, without the huge grin on your face. You fucked him yet? Cause Mavis Healy, down the bingo hall, has had more fingers down near her undercrackers in the past two months than you’ve had in your whole life! If she can get a dry fingering once a week from Old Stan whose hands have been idle since the D-Day landings, then I think you and the sulky panda can get a bit of a crack on.”

Callum shook his head, waving his hands to get her to lower her voice a little. She was tipsy and it was making her volume escalate. “We had a bit of a moment the last couple of days. Well today really,” he whispered to her as she leant in conspiratorially. “In a field. And then in his car.”

“When you say moment, do you mean had a cheeky kiss and a cuddle in a field of wheat, or do you mean you rogered him down on Mr McGregor’s farm?” she replied in a whisper louder than most speaking voices.

“Judy! Sshh!” he exclaimed, pointing his eyes towards the regulars moving in slow motion behind them. They may have been halfway to the grave, but he wasn’t about to take that risk. “It weren’t that!”

“Come on, Callum,” she whined. “Let me get something. I’m a single girl, I gotta get my kicks from somewhere.”

Callum looked curiously at her. “What happened with Mo?” he asked, thinking back to what happened in the alley. “Why were you with that fella the other day?”

Judy downed the rest of her drink. “He’s given me the shove, ain’t he?” she said, swallowing down a crate of pain. “Ain’t quite the girl he wants to be seen around with. Taken up with that Aleena from over up on Grover’s Road. You know? Those houses that got those window boxes and all those little stones in the garden where they park a car. She goes to college and all. Not evening classes down the community centre either. Proper day college, up West, that you gotta pay proper fees for, not just a couple of nicker for the subs you can keep tucked in your top. She takes books with her and everything.”

“Perhaps it’s just a bit of a break,” Callum said, trying to be reassuring. “I’m sure he’ll come back to you, Jude”

“No, he won’t Callum!” she said, chewing on her lip. “Why would he? Not when he’s got this sophisticated woman on his arm now, who I’m sure his wicked witch of a mother adores. I bet she won’t throw a loaf of bread at flaming Aleena when she’s trying to creep out and put her stilettos back on at five o’clock in the morning. I can’t compare, can I?”

“I think you’re your wonderful,” Callum said with a smile. “And if he can’t see it, then it’s his loss. You can do so much better, Jude. One day all your dreams are going to come true.”

“That don’t sound like me,” she replied softly. “The nightmares though. I’m sure they’ll pop up. Now, stop changing the subject. Tell me exactly what happened. I want all the gory and juicy details! Did he blow you?”

“Jude!”

“I bet he did, didn’t he? With that, you don’t have to hear him talk and you get your rocks off! Does he do it dead sexily? I can never look delicate. Not when you’ve got spit dribbling out the side of your mouth, lipstick being smudged onto your chin and a bit of early bird spunk getting caught in your hair. I guess that’s one good thing about mine being shorter now. It don’t get in the way so much with the movement. It’s alright for you fellas; you can go back in a bar and no one knows the difference. I go back in a pub after sucking someone off, and I look like a clown from one of those Stephen King books.”

“Yeah, well we didn’t do that!” Callum replied. “Can we not talk about it, please?”

“It don’t go away, Callum,” she said. “You can’t pretend that how you feel with him don’t exist just cause he ain’t here right now. It’s real. It might feel like it was all a dream, but it was real. He makes you happy, yeah? Then get happy!”

“I thought people like us don’t get to be happy?” he replied. Judy just nodded her head.

Callum placed the Mars bar on the counter with a snap. He knew he shouldn’t be here, but everything was starting to niggle again. That feeling he felt the other day with Ben was drifting further and further away, just like a constructed memory. One of his daydreams that was too good too be true before he fell back to earth with a swirl and a thump. He couldn’t be pulled in by it.

“Alright, mate,” the man behind the counter said casually, as he scanned the chocolate bar. Callum smacked some coins down on the side. “Easy, yeah? I just cleaned this.”

“What you done to Judy?” he said finally, after not being able to hold it in. The man in front of him scoffed out a laugh.

“She come crying to you, has she?” he said, leaning back. “Come off it, Callum! You know what she’s like. She’s a basket case, ain’t she?”

“She said you was in love,” Callum replied, shaking his head, not understanding the words he was hearing. “Then you knocked it on the head for some college bird.”

He stepped out the way so Mo could serve the next customer. “Oh leave it out! Everyone in this place knows why a fella gets with her!” he responded harshly, turning towards the old lady perched in front on her walker. “It ain’t wedding material, is it? Joyce, what do you think of Judy?”

“A nice wee lass, but her legs will spread quicker than butter on a hot crumpet,” she said, placing her coins down on the counter and picking up her jar of piccalilli and bottle of whiskey. “I ain’t criticising, mind you. Good luck to the gal, I say! You should have seen our Myrtle during the Blitz. Her stockings were up and down like Tower Bridge. Well, that was before you know what happened! God rest her soul.”

“I thought Myrtle lived over on the Gladden Estate?” Callum questioned.

“Oh aye, been there nigh on twenty years now,” Joyce said before starting to shuffle off on her walker. “But she needs all the help God can give her!”

Mo looked at him like everything should be clear. It wasn’t though. Judy was heartbroken and that wasn’t okay. “Just because other men have treated her like something they can just chuck away, that don’t mean everyone can treat her like that. She deserves to be looked after and treated right.”

“Yeah,” he questioned back. “Why don’t you get with her then? You were really quick to cover for us.”

Callum didn’t know if he knew. It seemed like it in his accusation. It wasn’t anyone else’s place to know about him and Ben. Now it seemed like everyone was putting their tuppence worth in.

“Face it, Callum, we know what she is,” Mo replied with a shrug. “There ain’t no helping her.”

“You’re a twat, Mo,” he spat out. “Aleena ain’t gonna be slumming it around Canning Town forever. It don’t work like that. She’ll walk out on you and you’ll be back spending your Friday night’s watching Masterchef with your mum.”

He walked out the shop annoyed, tearing into his Mars bar, the plastic getting caught in his teeth. The sweetness and richness hit his tastebuds, shooting straight to his head. He had football in an hour. The first match since his return. He hoped it would help calm him a little, because the monsters in his belly were awakening, and all that hope was fading like a hot air balloon into the sky.

The sun was beating down today, searing into Callum’s forehead, roasting his skin and making his blood curdle beneath it. He could feel the sweat slicken and pool at his back, and his muscles were slowing and more sluggish than he hoped.

To be fair, he was coping better than most of the players. Chunky was huffing and wheezing around, and looked ready to keel over at any second. Some of the other players were on the ground stretching out the cramp. The goalie spent more time guzzling down from his water bottle than standing in front of the net. It didn’t matter; it was a goalless draw as it stood in the second half, neither team having the impetus to put in the energy to make a run at the defence.

Callum couldn’t fail to notice Ben standing at the touchline. There weren’t that many people turned out; there was no shade about and anyone would bake in this heat just standing and watching. He was there though, wearing a short sleeved shirt and tight trousers, which caused Callum to keep taking his eye off the ball. Steve was standing next to him, leaning over and whispering in his ear.

It made Callum paranoid a little watching them talk. He didn’t want Steve knowing about them. There was this part of him that enjoyed having the landlord’s respect. He was the only one who thought him capable. He would find out and then say those words about Callum that he had about Ben. He would think him disgusting for what he did. The number of people knowing seemed to be growing yet still, and he felt the air suffocate him in the knowledge of who he was. They would all find out. His dad would find out.

“He’s come to watch just to leer at us, all sweaty and bothered,” a voice near his ear said. The game had paused for a minute while Pauley had sat down by one of the corner flags to check the laces on his boots, and not got back up again. Mickey had started to run on with a bucket and sponge, but had slowed to a plod with the exertion of making it to the other end of the pitch.

There was another factor to the ticking feeling in his head, the way his brain felt like he could be outed at any moment, and he didn’t even know who by. They had been a player short, so when Callum had walked in the changing room that morning, he had unfriendly eyes staring back at him. Alan had been recruited at the last minute to make up the numbers. As if the game wasn’t hard enough as it was.

He shouldn’t even be playing really, not with the injury to his side. It had eased though, and that brought about its his own set of problems. When it healed completely, he would have to go back. They would make him; there was no choice. It was like everything was being decided for him at the moment. The peace that had surrounded him just a few days ago was being ripped away.

Now, Alan was there lingering by his ear like a demon summoned in the night. “Trying to get his rocks off getting a glimpse of my bum in these shorts, I reckon.”

“He ain;t here for you!” Callum snapped back jealously, the salty sting of sweat hitting his eyes. He kicked himself as soon as he said it. He knew how it sounded to anyone’s ears.

“He’s a fag ain’t he?” Alan replied gristly, leaning in so close to his ear that Callum could smell the stale ash nicotine and bitter coffee on his breath. “This is like his dream. If we let him in that dressing room he’d have his jeans round his ankles in a second, and let us all have a go.”

“His dream? Sounds more like yours,” Callum said, rolling his arm behind him and shoving him off.

“I ain’t like that,” Alan replied defensively, as Callum scoffed at the statement. “I ain’t! I’m just a normal bloke; if there ain’t a bird about then you got to take what you can get, don’t you? I ain’t enjoying it. It’s just scratching an itch.”

“Yeah, well you looked right into it that night on your birthday,” Callum replied. “And what you were doing, you don’t do with a bird.”

Alan scoffed. “You’re just jealous,“ he replied, as Pauley was finally staggering to his feet. “You know he’s here to see me and you can’t handle that.”

“He couldn’t care less about you,” Callum snapped back. “He don’t even really remember that night.”

“No?” Alan questioned. “Well he might not remember that one, but he’ll remember the one three days ago when we met up in the bar again.”

Callum thought back and counted the dates. That would be the day after they spent the night together in his flat. The day Callum postponed their meeting and Ben had replied he’d had some other business anyway. The doubt didn’t just creep in, but stormed down the gates with a rallying cry. Ben hadn’t got anything from him that night apart from a bit of a cuddle. What if he’d gone elsewhere the next day?

“Face it, Callum. Your mum abandoned you. No girls, apart from the slappers, have ever shown an interest, your dad thinks your pathetic, your brother’s tired of fighting your battles, and even your old grandad kicked the bucket to get away! You can’t even get some gutter-rotting batty boy to stick around you,” Alan hissed. “No one wants you.”

He wouldn’t have felt it boiling on a day like today, this rage that took over, not with the heat that was still streaming down and crashing in at them in heavy waves. His skin was already raw with a relentless itch and his blood already rolling in his veins. It felt like slow motion this time though, and Callum was almost disgusted with himself that he was thankful. Almost relished the crack of Alan’s nose and the fleeing ruby droplets that dispersed over the bright green grass. He almost delighted in the choking sound, the fact bile was being shot up Alan’s throat and mixing with excess saliva causing him to struggle for every breath. Almost.

There was no pain in Callum’s fist, it just buzzed with energy and the manipulative whispers to take another hit even though the man in front of him was now vomiting onto the soil. A sharp whistle took him out of it suddenly, the surrounding noise whipping back into his ears with a pop and the heat tormenting the outside of his body rather than raging from the inside and juicing from his bones.

“Fuck sake, Davey. Never seen you run that fast before!” Chuncky called out to the puffing referee that was making his way across the pitch to the situation, his violet tinged cheeks beaconing his way.

“Right, break it apart!” the official called when he reached the scene, though Alan was still on all fours on the ground and Callum was standing back holding his fist. Davey gave his whistle another blow to make his point, though with his staggered breath, it sounded more like a squeal. “What’s gone on then?”

“It ain’t a fucking game of fucking Cluedo, Davey!” Chunky said, squeezing the dirty perspiration from his shirt. “It ain’t Professor Prick in the basement with a traffic cone! Halfway’s just twated Alan. Let’s get back to the game shall we, before my bollocks start boiling in a puddle of their own sweat over here!”

“I can’t have that, Chunk,” Davey replied, wheezing like a penguin that was about to explode. “I’ve got my reputation as a ref to think about. I can’t have violence between teams.”

“We couldn’t give a nun’s fanny, let’s just get on with the match,” the captain from the opposing team said. “If they want to knock each other out, then all the better.”

Davey shook his head. “No, I can’t do that Tommy,” he said, struggling to reach into his pocket. “Sorry, Halfway. You can’t be doing that. I can forgive a cheeky elbow to the ribs or sneaky studs to the groin if he were already out on the ground, but the whole crowd saw what happened. You’ll have to get a card, mate.”

The referee squeezed out two battered and creased cards from his pocket, the yellow reflecting the sun’s shine and glowing into the distance. That wasn’t the card he held up though, it was the cutting solid red, bold and defining, being waved in the air.

Callum didn’t even look at his team, he didn’t take a look at the referee still holding the red high as if there were still people that hadn’t seen it. As he wiped the sweat tearing down his face with the bottom of his shirt, he daren’t even look at the touchline. He didn’t want Ben looking at him. He didn’t want him looking at anyone else either, and if he looked up there was the prospect that Ben’s eyes were on Alan rather than him.

The changing room should have felt cool now he was out of the burning heat. His body was still resisting to the change in temperature, as his cheeks were fired and perspiration was cascading down his body. It was baiting him into getting angry. He stepped across to Alan’s kit back sitting on the floor and gave it a forceful kick, hearing something smash and break inside. He kept booting it with the side of his shoe, wanting everything to break for Alan into a thousand pieces, wanting him to know what it was like to be him.

“Bit feisty you, eh?”

Callum didn’t want to turn around as the tone buzzed though his ears trying to placate his mood; trying to calm and console it. He wouldn’t let it though, not this time. He leaned his hands against the wall dropping his head between his shoulders. “Was you with Alan the other night?”

“Who’s Alan?” he heard Ben reply. He sounded confused. That’s what he sounded. It didn’t mean that was real though. It didn’t mean it was the truth. “Oh that bloke whose face you rearranged out there? Is that what your little outburst was about?”

Callum pressed his hands harder against the wall, trying to get the coolness in through his palms as the rest of his body raged. “He said the night after you was at my flat, you and him were together in the pub.”

“Yeah, we were in the pub at the same time,” Ben replied slowly, as if he was confused about what was happening. “What, you think I was shagging him? Cause your brother were in there and all. You think I had a go on him as well?”

“You ain’t had a turn on Stuart before though, have you?” Callum replied. “You have with Alan.”

He heard Ben sigh. “I’ve been with a lot of blokes! It don’t mean nothing.”

Callum scoffed and that was the crux of it. He was just another in a long line for Ben, and he wasn’t even giving him what he wanted. Not really.

He thought about the other day, about their time in the field and then in the car. It was all a mirage, a fake world passing as real. Everything that happened was just make believe, too good to be true. It hadn’t meant anything to Ben. He would forget about it in a few days time, and then in a few weeks wouldn’t even remember his name when he passed him on the street.

Turning around, Callum walked towards Ben, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and walking him back hurriedly to the end of the dressing room. Ben’s face was just a blur really, but he could see the grin appear on it. Callum was just giving him what he wanted. It was just sex, and he had to remember that.

Ben’s back hit the wall with a thud, and when droplets of cool water started to temper his face, Callum realised he’d bashed into the button for the shower. He didn’t stop. If anything the cold water just made the realisation of what this was even clearer. He may as well enjoy it while he could. It would all be gone in a click of his fingers soon. He knew what heartbreak did to a person, and he wasn’t about to let his get ripped in two.

When he first made contact with Ben’s lips, he almost lost his resilience. He almost felt. Their softness woven with Callum’s forceful claim, hit him like an ounce of sugar bolting to his veins and he never wanted to leave them. He never wanted to give this up. He had to though; he had to let it go before it left him.

Ben’s hands were trying to cling on to his back forcing him closer as Callum pressed him further into the wall. They couldn’t seem to keep hold of him though, sliding through the slick sweat and water, so they dropped down to his bum instead grasping and grabbing urgently, letting him know what he wanted.

Callum left one hand on Ben’s face to keep him in place, though he didn’t seem like he would be moving. Then he dropped the other down to Ben’s trousers which were now soaked through from the shower and clinging to his shape like a second skin. He wasn’t gentle or nervous, he wasn’t tentative, he just rubbed his cock, knowing how tortuous it would feel to be so close, knowing that ache and want between the two of them.

Only he didn’t know that. Ben wouldn’t feel the same way as he did. This didn’t mean anything to Ben. This would be the final time, and then Callum could stop.

Ben’s hand twisted around and under Callum’s shirt, pushing it up. He wanted it off. There was a second that Callum almost forgot. He almost complied with the request, but when fingertip grazed the scar there, he pushed back without a second thought. “Don’t.”

He pushed Ben back against the wall again, continuing to palm his cock through his trousers, hearing the moans of excruciating desire pour out from the man as he leant his head back. Just as he started to undo the button, again Ben tried to claw his way under Callum’s shirt.

Callum pushed back again. “Stop,” he replied, pulling the shirt down, sopping and slopping with water. That was too personal. It held to much meaning, and this couldn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything.

“Why won’t you let me see?” Ben asked, stepping slightly out of the path of the flurry of water and banging his fist against the wall. “What you afraid of suddenly? You weren’t like this the other day.”

Callum stepped back further under the spray of water, needing the distance. “I don’t have to do anything. This between us ain’t real,” he said, remembering Stuarts warning in his head. He thought about Judy’s heartbreak, about Mo’s fickle nature and Alan’s claim. They were all signs for him to run away. All signs for him to back away. “It’s just a bit of fun. Just an itch that’s getting scratched.”

Ben nodded to himself. “What’s happened? Someone’s said something to you, ain’t they? You can’t keep hiding Callum,” he said. He looked so beautiful. His hair slicked against his face, his cheeks pinked and glowing, with lips blushed under Callum’s influence. His clothes were melded to his body, and he was still hard beneath his trousers. Callum wanted him so badly.

He knew that he shouldn’t though. It was clawing, the fact that they were both there panting and soaking in the shadows of some grotty dressing room, stained and sullied. Why would either of them want this? Why would either of them choose this? Why did either of them deserve this, when they could have something better? Callum saw it, he knew it existed. Couples sitting down and having dinner, just next to each other making conversation, and then walking home in the moonlight. It was so calm and serene. Surely that was right? Not this.

“I ain’t the only one that’s hiding,” he replied. “You swan in and out of The Pig, and no one knows what you’re doing. You ain’t there for me, I know that.”

“You don’t know anything. I don’t know what’s happened to you the past two days, but you know nothing!” he bit back, and if Callum didn’t know better he would think that he was breaking Ben’s heart. He did know better though. He knew the warnings. He saw the signs. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“You came in here! I never asked you in,” Callum complained. There was a small bit of stomach showing by the waistband of Ben’s trousers. Only a little patch, but it kept catching his eye and he wanted his mouth on it. He wanted to claim it and never let anyone else ever touch it again.

“Not here in this changing room. Here. Canning Town,” he said pointing at the space between them. “You weren’t never part of the plan. How could you be? I was just passing through here.”

“Well you’re done now aren’t you,” Callum replied. “You said what you were doing with Steve is almost over. So do it and go. Ain’t nothing keeping you here.”

Ben hesitated, caught between two worlds; Callum was still standing in the torrential downpour, and the peak of yellow sun that peeped through the door. For a moment, Callum thought he’d head towards him, that he’d hold him like he wanted, he’d kiss him like he wanted, here in this nightmare of a place.

He didn’t though, he gave a shake of his head, droplets of water rolling down his face, making it look like he was a crying. Some damned angel who shone and appeared from the sky with a bubble glow, one who couldn’t quite take the intensity of feeling that they were plagued with on earth. He simply headed towards the door, towards the light that suddenly became over cast as every one of his footsteps got nearer the exit.

“Don’t stay too long, Callum,” he said, his form disappearing out the door. “Or you’ll never get home.”

Callum didn’t wait until the match had finished before he left the changing room. He couldn’t face the thought of his teammates coming in and destroying him and berating him. He didn’t want to see Alan’s face, knowing he was right. Knowing that there wasn’t one person on this earth that wanted him, that needed him and would fight for him.

He stripped off in the shower after Ben left, washing away the sweat and sullen soil and grime from the match. He gave his retreating cock a bit of a tug, the image of Ben standing and leaning against that wall, his dick straining against soaked trousers not far from his mind. He had looked a wreck. A beautiful disaster and it got Callum coming quickly against the shower tile with little effort on his part. It made it easier afterwards, he could now put him to the back of his mind again. Bury him from his life.

He wasn’t working at The Pig that afternoon, so he didn’t have to hurry anywhere. He didn’t want to be around anyone he knew. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened or have a comment that would flare him up again. He felt like his soul, after years of being shut away, kept trying to rip itself out of his body, being fuelled with the sated desire it craved.

Just walking around Canning Town, going nowhere in particular, he just let his feet wander. They traced all the same paths that he ever had. He knew exactly where his next step was taking him, where he could cross the road with little chance of a car coming, what the street market would smell like. It was all so familiar, and that should have calmed him. He should be settled by the certainty and the expected serenity.

Walking the same continuous path he always had, circling around and seeing the same faces and the same sounds. There wasn’t any conciliation, just numbness soaking back through his veins like a sting luring him back to his slumber, lulling the fury and the fire back into its cages, dragging with it the bliss and ecstasy that rode their way on them.

After a few hours, he neared the estate, his feet trundling up the stairs to his flat. When he looked down the hallway, he stopped. There was someone waiting outside his front door.

Callum hadn’t expected him to be here. It felt strange to see him lingering outside his flat. He didn’t fit in this world and stood out to his eye immediately. He took a few steps closer waiting to be seen, waiting for his presence to be acknowledged.

Finally, his footsteps were heard and a pair of eyes looked back at him. “Alright?” the voice asked.

“Alright, Chris,” Callum replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @blueangel0909 on twitter
> 
> @moodyblueangel on tumblr
> 
> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	12. The Doctors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Callum's world isn't the nicest, so please heed the warnings and tags!

“You gonna invite me in?” Chris said with a laugh. “You do live here, I take it?”

Callum nodded, and searched his bag for his keys, his fingers trying to clutch the jangling metal he could hear calling out. He looked up and gave the man in front of him a smile, thinking it was the least that he owed him, one which was returned instantly. Those eyes, brown and deep, the kindness pouring out like the smoothest, softest silk. He’d noticed them first when they met. He wanted to fall into them and just bathe in the calmness there, as gold flecks waved like soft barley in a farmer’s field.

Chris shouldn’t be here. These soft, delicate eyes shouldn’t be in a place like this. There was something not right about him being at his flat in Canning Town, when he hadn't expected him to be here. He felt unprepared for it, and Callum hated being on the back foot.

When Callum was twelve, Grandad and him got the train up to Leigh-on-Sea for the day. It was during the summer and Stuart was either working or out with mates, and his dad was spending every waking hour in The Pig or the bookies. It was just his grandad and him that glorious sunny day, sitting on the train watching the world wash by in a sea of colour, greys and browns bleeding into vibrant greens as the journey went on. It had been a couple of years since his Grandad had gone into his assisted living facility, but he still had the vigour and tenacity that Callum remembered. It was still there and would be for a few more years. Until the year it wasn’t.

When they reached the station, Callum galloped off the train excitedly. They walked along the beach, his grandad having a seemingly endless pocket of change for once, letting him buy donuts from a vendor. They were still warm and the cakey texture was soft and rich to his palate. The sugar got attached to his lips, and he licked it all up eagerly, getting every grain off his fingers where it had stuck with the buttery grease.

By the time they had got to the end of the beach, stopping off to just sit and look at the waves crashing in endlessly onto the resilient stones, Callum was hungry again. His grandad had reached into his pocket once more to pull out some more coins. He never even had to ask his grandad. He’d would just have to look at something and he would know what he wanted. If he could, he’d get it for him. The whole world would be Callum's, if it were up to his grandfather.

Callum would never have asked though. He grew up with Jonno and knew what asking could get you. Sometimes it would just be a blank refusal, neutral and unfeeling, with an accompanying scowl and degrading comment. Sometimes it would be getting dragged through the flat, being screamed at until his head felt like it was about to burst, or receiving a punishment that left him ashamed and tears pouring from his eyes. People always used to make fun of him a little for not always asking for what he wanted, or letting someone else make the decision. It was ingrained in him though. He just went along with what was asked, rather than what he desired.

That wasn’t the case here; he didn’t have to work hard with his grandad. He knew Callum, he understood him, even the darkest parts that were hidden away. They sat on a wall by a little burger van, tucking into their lunch. The meat was dry on the inside but with a crunchy crust, lubricated by the grease that still dripped. Squidgy squares of cheese were splattered unevenly on the surface, a tasteless creamy texture that refused to melt in the crumbling cold bun. The ketchup was sharp, the edge of vinegar being the overwhelming taste of the thin red sauce. But there was sweetness coming from the onions, that powerful caramel sizzle that overwhelmed the taste of anything else, that covered his mouth and his nose as the hissing of the grill still ricocheted in his ears. There was a slight bitterness to the blackened ones, like overcooked honeycomb, and he eagerly demolished bite after bite.

Once they had finished, Callum noticed there was an arcade just a little bit further down the beach. The electronic tones and neon lights were blinking vibrantly outside the darkened inside. It seemed mysterious, and nothing like the few slot machines and air hockey table they had down the local bowling alley, lit with a harsh brightness.

“You go have a play for half an hour, son,” Grandad had said, fishing in his pocket again and dropping the cold change in Callum’s hand. “I’ll rest my feet here before the walk back.”

Callum can still remember the feeling of warm powerful fingers brushing his hand as the money was passed over, and the strong grip his grandad gave before he let go. He remembers that in his mind, and he doesn’t know why. It never takes out the memory of the last hand hold though. The final one.

Tentatively lingering outside for a few seconds, Callum peaked his nose through the entrance before deciding to move into the darkness. His eyes soon adjusted, helped by the shine and glow of the aisles of machines that rattled and twanged before him. There was a chorus of coppers tinging in and out of coin slots, and electronic sound effects that celebrated or commiserated with every turn.

It didn’t take long for him to play the first machine, a grabber game that had a litany of prizes down the bottom, the large shiny hand hanging temptingly above. After a few goes, he’d had no luck, but he didn’t mind. The sequential buzzing feelings of guilt at spending money without purpose and the adrenaline that built with each chance and possibility was addictive. It shook and charmed through his body with excitement, and happiness at the day. There was still that little voice that told him being this high meant that it was just longer to fall back down to earth. And he would fall. When they got back to Canning Town and his life there, he wouldn’t feel like this anymore.

For now, though he just basked in the buzz, feeling alive, dangerously so and he liked it this way. He soon ran out of the few coins that his grandad had given him, but he got on his hands and knees and picked up those that were scattered here and there by mistake on the floor. He stuck his fingers into every coin collector in every machine, finding some more sporadically. One of the attendants kept looking at him suspiciously. He knew it wasn’t his money, but it wasn’t really anyone else’s either. It was just lost and waiting. Callum knew where he came from, and wasn’t about to knock back chances when they fell in front of him. He knew Grandad would have given him every penny he had, but he was an opportunist too. A fighter who grabbed at things put in front of him.

As he was shuffling his hand out of an empty fruit machine, he looked up and saw a familiar face. It took him a few seconds for the name to register, though the person stood out immediately. It was his geography teacher, Mr Marcus. He was over by the grab machine that Callum had been playing twenty minutes ago, laughing and joking with a friend.

It stunned Callum to think of his teacher this way, outside of school, not in his usual creased suit and spotty tie, enjoying himself and having a laugh with a mate at some frivolous arcade miles from home. That wasn’t something Callum ever thought about or discussed with his teachers; their life outside of school. It was strange to have his worlds mix, and he felt like he was suddenly supposed to shuffle through all these masks that appeared and try and find the right one that fit. Mr Marcus had never even met his dad, as far as he knew. Jonno never went to parent’s evening, but then Callum never gave him the letters, just let them fester down the bottom of his rucksack with an old box of Sun Maid raisins and a football sock.

To this day, he didn’t know what possessed him to do it, more curiosity than anything, but he found himself walking up the teacher. “Alright, Mr Marcus?” he asked, his voice coming out in little more than a tremble.

Callum noticed that the teacher’s expression changed almost the instant he heard his name. The laughter dropped out of his face, and he shrugged off his mate’s hand that was resting on his shoulder.

Callum was afraid he’d done something wrong and was kicking himself for not just sloping past him quietly and anonymously to go back outside. That’s what he would have done for most people that he recognised. This was different though; he liked this teacher, he always had a kind word, an encouraging one and didn’t make him feel stupid because he couldn’t get something right the first time. Now, he’d messed up and had probably upset one of the only people at school he could trust.

There was a little lightness that bled back into Mr Marcus’ face when he turned and saw which pupil was standing before him. “Hello, Callum,” he replied, though there was still a hint of hesitancy that wasn’t there when they spoke together at school. “You enjoying your holidays? You’re not here by yourself are you? Your dad here?”

Callum shook his head, curious at the slight hint of annoyance that registered on the teacher’s tone when he mentioned his father. “Nah, my grandad’s just outside airing his legs,” he said, and he noticed Mr Marcus’ friend look down at him. He had comforting blue eyes, and looked interested in what he had to say. Callum wondered if he was a teacher as well. “I should probably get back to him now or we’ll miss our train home.”

“Well, have a lovely summer,” Mr Marcus called back out, as Callum started to walk towards the entrance. “I’ll see you in September.”

There was just a curiosity that made Callum linger slightly by the opening to the arcade; just a little. He was halfway out, back onto the beach, and he could hear a song boom out from a fair ride a little bit along the parade, the dance beat rhythmically pounding into his brain as the female vocals soothed and cried. It was a song he’d heard before, but now it seemed to be seeping through to every pore and becoming one with him. His eyes were caught back in the arcade. Suddenly seeing someone in a different world, in a different way unnerved him, but interested him equal parts. Looking back, Mr Marcus and his friend returned to the same position they were in before he interrupted them. The same laughter, the same gestures, the same world.

Callum now felt the same sensation today, as he did all those years ago in the arcade. There was a person he was at home, and there was a person he was with Chris in the army. He had separated those two lives for so long, and now one piece had come storming into another. This wasn’t like it was with Ben, who seemed to be from somewhere different entirely, a place Callum had never visited before, where worries melted away and were replaced with a blinding power and force, a pounding beat with soothing and sorrowful words. He had got used to Ben being able to travel through all his worlds; to rip off every one of Callum’s masks proudly, and smash them down on the ground with disdain. This though, this was different.

Callum closed the front door behind Chris, who promptly wiped his feet, as the lock clattered. They didn’t have a welcome mat down there, it seemed superfluous for a number of reasons, but it seemed to be a force of habit for Chris. He pointed to his shoes, signalling the question of if he should take them off. Callum just shook his head. Their carpet was old, battered and stained. There wouldn’t be anything on Chris’ shoes that could sully the place even further than it had already been in the years they had lived there.

“I know I should have called, but I didn’t even really plan on coming round,” Chris said, waiting to be asked into the lounge. “I wasn’t that far away though, and I remembered your address from the letter, and I thought why not try and see if you’re about. I was only going to leave it another couple of minutes, and then shoot off if no one turned up.”

Callum pointed towards the lounge, his words sticking in his throat, confused and jumbled at the visit. Chris went in through the door and started to subtly look around. There was politeness on his face, and it made Callum settle for just a minute. Chris would never say anything judgemental, he knew that, no matter what he must have thought about the flat that had peeling paint and damp patches in the corner. Even when his eyes settled on a monstrous small plastic model on the mantlepiece, that had a half-naked woman with glitter tassels on her nipples waving at the room, he barely flinched to his credit.

“Can I get you a drink?” Callum said, as he motioned for Chris to sit down.

“I could murder a cuppa,” he replied, perching on the sofa, his hands clasped in front of him. He looked nervous, he was always still and quiet when he was unsure.

When Callum returned with a steaming hot mug of tea, Chris was still sitting in the same position, like he’d been paused in that moment, waiting for his return. He took the cup gratefully, blowing on it gently. “How are you, H?” he asked. “We ain’t seen each other since that day.”

It was typical of Chris to come right out with it, but do it with caring and sensitivity. He was always so open, so accepting and plagued by insecurity. It was something that Callum admired about him, couldn’t help but do so. Perhaps there was a linger of envy that it came so easy to the other man, but he could never feel anything negative towards Chris. There was too much light in him, too much purity and good. It was one of the reasons Callum was so drawn to him. He shone like a gentle sun, and it was easy for Callum to bask quietly in his shadow.

That day though, the last one he had seen Chris, he had tried to step out from it, tried to get away from it, and he ended up paying for it.

Chris leaned a little closer, swallowing a little, as if he were afraid the words that followed would startle Callum. “We ain’t seen each other since that day we kissed.”

It was out now. Once they had been spoken, he couldn’t deny them or pretend it hadn’t happened. It wasn’t just some memory and distant action he could leave in another place. Those words fluttered about this world, released into the wild like a bird that had been too long caged, not knowing how to be free.

When Callum returned to the army, he had tried to leave Canning Town behind, and everything that had happened. He hadn’t just tried, he’d ripped it out of his head and sent it hurtling back. It had always worked before, to a certain extent. This time though, there was a piece that he couldn’t shake, that wouldn’t remain hidden. Ben hadn’t left him. He had been as powerful in his head in Afghanistan, as he had back home. The masquerade mask he wore when in the army had become fractured and flawed as a result, and it was soon starting to show.

Chris noticed there were differences, of course. They worked so closely together, they were inseparable, everyone always used to say so. “Where Chris goes, Halfway won’t be far behind,” they always used to say with a laugh. It was a good security to have, a comfort when the rest of his life was filled with isolation. It was someone to stand with, to chat with and connect, knowing they would never in a million years reject you. He knew that Chris would never leave him, he’d never desert him or push him away. He would always be there for him. It killed Callum that he couldn’t do the same in return.

Ben entering his life had sparked something in him, opened up blocked caves and covered cages that he’d been able to ignore. It was like he was dismantling all of Callum’s defences one by one, brick by brick, tearing down everything he’d spent so long building. It had meant that everything he had been able to blur into the corner of his eye, was now becoming clearer and strikingly in focus, impossible to ignore. He always knew that Chris hugged him a little too long, looked at him a little too often and would lean his head a little too close. He knew what it was, but if he never thought about why, then he could ignore it.

Callum always returned the gestures, gripping back tightly during the hugs, never dropping the eye contact and smiling broadly when their faces were close. He wanted those things, it had started a feeling bubbling, one he had many times, but fleetingly so before now. With Chris it was there all the time, just fizzing lightly under his skin, gently letting him know there was something there, like a faint country breeze. There could be something there.

When he got back this time though, it was like all the gestures and looks were magnified, were pulling him in more, begging him to act on them. Expecting him to act on them. Looking back, he didn’t think Chris had changed, he didn’t think he was pressurising him or trying to get him to open up. He was always so patient he realised, waiting for Callum to be ready and not wanting to do anything to risk what they already had.

It had been excruciating, those few months. He didn’t know if he wanted anything to happen with Chris or not, his mind whirling around like a cyclone, and he was waiting for the pieces to land. Every time he smiled in Callum’s direction, or they shared a laugh over something that happened in the kitchen, it was like it hit him that he could have more. He could lean over and kiss him, pull him towards him and see what would happen.

Then Ben’s face would be next to him, sometimes with that fiery glaze that burnt and scolded and sent scorching embers from the tips of his toes to his aching lips, and sometimes with that sadness from that pooled at Callum’s feet like lapping waves and sent a fierce icy chill through his body, waking his bones up and bringing everything to life. It held him back from Chris, it made his warm smiles and gentle looks mist slightly in comparison.

That night though, Ben had especially been in his head, in his body and his thoughts. They scratched and scathed at his skin, the fact he wanted to touch, wanted the sensation of feeling and he couldn’t, as his fingers rubbed down his own body in phantom traces. He couldn’t do that here. He couldn’t place his hands where he wanted Ben’s and pretend that everything was alright. He couldn’t pretend that Ben’s words hadn’t stabbed through his chest. He didn’t want to see him again, that’s what he had said. He’d disappeared from Callum’s life with as much force and vigour as he had entered it.

The frustration was still there the next morning, still there when Chris came into the kitchen. He brushed his arm, asking if he was alright, and Callum looked into those rich, comforting eyes and knew that he’d never leave him behind. He’d never bring out this side of Callum that he couldn’t control. These feelings he had could be given to someone who would treat them gently. That would be delicate with them.

He didn’t even remember making the decision, or thinking it through. He had just leaned forward and put his lips to Chris’. Almost to his. There was a hesitation just before, but at that point Chris had already started to return the gesture and it was done. It was nothing like kissing Judy or those other girls. He let Chris’ lips graze over his and he had had let him. He felt wanted, and he felt safe and he felt good.

But he didn’t feel. Not like he hoped, not that blistering current raging through his skin whenever he got close to Ben. As Chris leaned back, he smiled, rubbing his arm softly down Callum’s arm. He looked so happy. They could be happy, in this place, away from everything else. There was something behind that caught his eye though, and there was Ben leaning on the wall in his kitchen in Afghanistan, looking back at him with hunger, with want, and with lips reddened and begging.

That was the last time he saw Chris. He had stumbled away, stammering words and apologies he didn’t even remember, and that day he had gone on patrol. He had been volunteering more and more, needing to get away from Chris more and more. He ran right from the safety of Chris’ arms into that field of poppies. If he had just stayed there in that kitchen, let Chris in, rather than be distracted by what he couldn’t have, he would have been safe. Everyone would have been safe. He made the wrong choice. That couldn’t happen again.

“A lot happened that day,” he said, and he went to sit next to Chris on the sofa. He looked good, sitting there in his civvies, always so handsome. “I’m sorry for disappearing on you. I felt awful for leaving you there like that.”

“I get it, H,” Chris explained, putting his hand over Callum’s, just resting it there. “I’m sorry about Buddy. I didn’t know him really, but I know you went on patrol a few times with him.”

Callum shook his head, he didn’t want to talk about the young recruit who had plodded along the path with him that day. Who went to get the mother away while Callum got the child. He’d done that to him, his choices had got him killed. They’d got her killed.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Callum said, looking Chris in the eye, trying to convince him. It seemed to work, and Callum had almost forgotten how good he was at lying. How naturally it came, and how easily he could convince. “We all know the dangers of the job.”

He knew it was going to happen, he could sense it when Chris put his mug down on the table, when he turned to face Callum. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and he told himself that he didn’t want it to stop. Those mellow peaceful eyes were telling him that everything would be fine; they were safe and warm, and wouldn’t lie.

Chris leaned his head in slowly, so not to startle. This time Callum didn’t hesitate, letting his lips fall to the other man’s within a moment. It felt nice, and Chris was so handsome, and so kind; the sort of bloke that anyone would want to kiss. The kind that anyone would want to be with.

He drew back after a few seconds, giving the man before him the biggest smile. This was the right choice. This is what would be best for him.

He didn’t feel right. He didn’t feel it was the best for him. He didn’t feel.

“You’re so wonderful,” Callum said, ignoring the echoes inside him, drawing his fingers down Chris’ arm slowly, wanting him to know what an amazing person he was. He truly was. He was always so popular with everyone in the squad; they all liked and respected him. It wasn’t just Callum who was drawn to him. Everyone always had a good word for Chris. He was so fortunate that he even looked Callum’s way and gave him the time of day. “You’re such a lovely person. I’m so lucky.”

Before anything else could be said, there was a click at the door, a signal like gunfire that the bubble was about to be broken. Callum tried to be as natural as possible as Jonno rounded into the lounge. His face took in the scene, though by that point Callum had moved far away from Chris on the sofa.

“What’s all this then?” Jonno asked, just a hint and an edge to his voice. It was prodding and interrogating, wondering if there was an enemy at the gate.

“Dad, this is Chris,” Callum said, both men standing up from the sofa. His father seemed to look the soldier up and down for a minute, and Callum’s heart was in his mouth, sure his dad was about to explode at any second after realising what was happening. “He’s a mate from the army. He’s on leave, so just popped over to see how I was.”

The explanation seemed to settle with Jonno, and Callum could see his hackles lower. “You weren’t foolish enough to get yourself blown up then, son?” he said, holding out his hand for Chris to shake. “Not like this donut here.”

“It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Mr Highway,” Chris replied, a little laugh at Jonno’s comment. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Callum realised then that Chris must have taken his dad’s comment for a joke. That was his own fault. Chris really had heard a lot about his father, but a lot of it wasn’t real. He didn’t lie outright, but he dressed up a lot of Jonno’s behaviour, made a gag out of it. Callum never mentioned any of the grim and gruesome moments that lurked in darkened corners. In his stories, he made Jonno into the father he wanted, rather than the one he had.

“You come to get this one out have you?” Jonno asked, settling in his chair, as Callum’s eyes widened. “Get us a drink, would you boy? I’m gasping here.”

Callum quickly scuttled to the fridge and grabbed a can of beer for his dad, trying to get back in the living room as fast as he could without the sweat of fear appearing on his face. In case either of them gave away his secrets. In case either revealed the wrong mask.

When he returned, he was a little stunned to find the two men laughing, getting along like it came naturally. His dad had never laughed like that with him. That was always reserved for the guys down the pub, slapping Chunky or Alan on the back when they’d made an off colour comment. He held the drink in front of Jonno’s face. “They’re ya, Dad.”

“Cheers, boy,” he replied. “I offered your mate one, but he’s having to go now. He’s going to come down to The Pig with us in the week though.”

Callum stilled, wondering if this was a dream. All those years spent in his head, all those criticisms he was a daydreamer, perhaps he’d finally lost the line over what was true and what wasn’t. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it,” Chris said, standing up and heading towards the door. It was like Callum had entered a parallel universe, where all his lives had been shaken up in a snow globe and mixed together. “I can’t wait to meet your brother.”

It was a different walk than usual to The Pig, later on in the week. It usually passed by in a familiar blur, knowing the sounds and sights off by heart, and often not even remembering the journey. This time though with Jonno pacing happily to his right, and Chris smiling at him every few seconds on his left, there was no time to get lost in any thoughts. Especially not with Stuart’s eyes burrowing into the back of his head, watching his every move.

It had been a strange conversation between him and his brother when Stuart found out Chris would be coming with them to the pub. He expected accusations and warnings. There had been nothing though. None of the threats and criticisms he had when he knew he was spending time with Ben. All he had whispered to Callum when they were heading out the door was a gentle comment. “He seems like a nice fella,” his brother had said with a nod. “Reliable and decent, I’m glad he’s here. Good of him to come check how you are.”

It was almost a relief when they reached the bar. Almost. That was until he saw who was occupying the stale and grinding space. There was Alan, Dogger, Kev and Chunky sipping on their beer in the corner table, a cackle of witches brewing and spewing over their cauldron. He didn’t want their boorishness to be slapped on to Chris, not someone so perfect and unmarked from this world. It wasn’t fair.

Even more worrying was who was propping up the bar. Callum wished he could say it was a surprise to find Ben there, but even after what happened at the football last week, even after Ben said he would be gone out of his lives, he had still come back here. Their tether was still winding him back in, as Callum knew it would. It was doing the same to him. It also appeared Ben had come back and consumed most of the bar’s intake of whisky. He was drunk, and loudly so, singing in a raucous voice.

He wasn’t alone. His duet partner was pitched high and far off key, using her straw to conduct the arrangement, which was spluttering vodka and cranberry juice everywhere. Judy was barely able to balance on her stool, and almost tumbled off when she looked around and saw Callum with Chris.

It was like everything faded away for a few seconds when his eyes met Ben’s. They were questioning, darting to the man standing next to Callum with a bite and hostile flicker, like the darkest of waves crashing harshly onto rocks, wanting to break them in two with the ferocity. When they returned they were burning and spiking with the power of an iceberg. He knew this was only the tip, and there was an explosion of an extraordinary magnitude lurking beneath, waiting to be uncovered. Callum felt it too.

Those few seconds meant he couldn’t control where they would all sit, and Jonno led them to the booth. That booth. Chris took one look at the cracked and snapped base, and grabbed a chair instead, pulling it up close to the table. That was typical, and it said a lot about the difference in them. Callum sitting on this broken object that he destroyed with his own unrestrained actions, and Chris was perched on something perfect, stable and controlled. He knew how out of his league he was, how lucky he was that Chris would put up with all his flaws, even if it was just the few he knew about. It was enough.

“Jesus! I can’t sit here!” Jonno exclaimed, after a few minutes of wobbling around the booth trying to get comfortable. There had just been gentle conversation, Chris explaining about his time in the army, and Jonno had nodded along. He didn’t offer much back, but then it was still more than Callum had ever received. “I’m off to sit with Dogger. You coming Stu?”

There was a hesitation where his brother seemed to pause, his eyes glancing from Chris over to the scene at the bar. After a moment though, he gave his dad a nod and followed to sit with the larger group, leaving Chris and Callum alone to sip at their pints.

There was laughing heckling from all corners of the pub, none of it sounded happy though, none of it joyous. The gang in his corner that Jonno had joined were deep in their conversation; sodden and coarse comments storming over to their ears every now and then. Callum could only keep muttering apologies towards Chris. “It’s alright, H!” he responded with a laugh, not even an edge of being insulted blotting his face. “We are in the army, you know! I’ve heard worse! This place ain’t so bad, you know? The way you talked about it, I was certain it was going to be a ditch with a beer pump in the centre! This place is alright.”

He didn’t see it. He didn’t see the horror and the monsters that were circling around their feet, like sharks who were sniffing out droplets of blood. He didn’t understand it, how you had to numb yourself constantly so that when their horrific jaws snapped shut and stabbed you with their sharp and wielding fangs, you couldn’t feel it. You had to drive the pain away. Put it to the back of your mind.

There was more laughter in the room from the bar, as the inebriated pair were now downing another set of drinks. Judy was up on the bar now, a beer mat stuck to her head as the giggles came out. It wasn’t her proper laugh, not the one he had heard. It wasn’t Ben’s either. He knew that too well, it sounded in his head all the time. All the time. It never left. Both Judy and Ben had their feet high off the floor. They knew too much about circling sharks.

After another few moments, Judy had made her way off the top of the bar and was staggering over to their booth, her long pink tulle skirt getting caught on the heel of her sparkly silver shoes with every other step.

“Callum!” she said with enthusiasm, as if they hadn’t been sitting in the same pub for the past half an hour. She looked at the free space in the booth with a roll of her eyes, before deciding the best place to sit was in Callum’s lap. She was still holding her straw in her hand, and proceeded to bop his nose with it like a magic wand. “How’s my favourite boyfriend, wink wink?”

“I’m good, Jude,” he said, moving his head to the side slightly as the straw was now getting closer to his eye than his nose. “You not working today?”

She shook her head, bringing the straw back to slurp from it, seeming shocked when it didn’t have a drink on the end of it. “No, I’ve got in a little bit of bother and got a discipling meeting next week to talk about it. Discipling? Disputing? Displinaring? One of them anyway. Who’s this? You brought me a tall, dark and handsome present?”

“This is Chris,” he said, as the other man put his hand out to greet her. Judy placed the straw in it and gave it a shake. “He’s a mate from the army.”

“Well, he’s never mentioned you,” she said to Chris, giving him a slight glare. It came out more like a squinty dormouse than a threat. “I didn’t know you had any friends, hon. I thought it was just me and satan’s arsewipe over there. Though he has been buying me rounds all afternoon, so we’ll downgrade that to the devil’s douche, shall we?”

As if on command, Ben came swaggering over. He seemed to have sobered up a little, but that wasn’t unlike him. Ben could do that, change his mood and demeanour in a puff of smoke. Almost like he was putting on different masks. It didn’t surprise Callum that he wasn’t tentative in his approach, placing down his glass, and throwing himself onto the both with a sigh. The wood gave a squeak, and Ben continued to rock on it with the appearance of getting comfortable, the squeaks rhythmic and piercing to Callum’s ears.

“I remember being a lot more comfy the last time I sat here,” he said, and the booth was groaning obscenely now. “Don’t you, Callum?”

He chose to ignore the comment, hoping it would just dissipate into the air. Callum had no such luck though, when Judy sat up suddenly, spiking him in the leg with her heel. “Oh! Is this where you two-“

“Does anyone want a drink?” he interrupted, though all three men had full glasses. Now Judy had shifted a little in his lap, he could see Ben’s eyes trace below the table, before going back up to Chris. Callum’s leg was close to his, and he could see just how near he was to Chris. Ben flittered his eyes back to his own. He knew. Callum knew he knew. “Chris?”

There was a hesitation in Ben, as if he was going to say something there and then. It was cutting, this air between them, being dragged back and forth invisibly and wildly, that no one else in the pub noticed. “Your name’s Chris?” Ben asked, looking curiously at the other man.

“Ain’t you got somewhere else to go and get drunk, Mitchell?” Jonno called out from the next table. Callum wasn’t sure if he was thankful for the interruption at that moment, or not. “Steve ain’t here, we can throw you out on your arse. I’m sure you’d get off on that”

Ben held up his hands, his face fierce but steady. “I’m just here for a quite pint or two, fellas! You can keep your little fantasies to yourself. Whatever gets you going I say,” he replied, smirking while downing his whiskey. Callum thought he saw his eyes flutter his way, just for a second. Just to check. “Besides, my arse is sore enough as it is. Was bent over and given it by this hot little fella all of last night, so I just want a drink to take the edge off. You know the feeling, don’t you? Well, perhaps not all of you.”

Ben winked at Alan, who immediately found the glass of his pint fascinating. Callum wanted to scream, right now, just bellow this whole place down until the windows shattered into a million pieces and the floor crumbled into nothing. He wanted to punch the walls until the cracks multiplied and broke and fell to rubble. Above everything else, he wanted to run away. He was surrounded in a nightmare of his own making and nothing would make it stop.

Callum felt a hand on his arm, and looked to see that Chis had rested his hand on top of his. It soothed his skin, like running a burn under some cold water. It would be momentary though. What it needed was a deep, binding healing, he knew he had the ability to feel. The only eyes that had the talent to ice the burn, to blast and enchant away all the pain, were the ones that fired it in the first place. That didn’t seem fair.

He was happy to settle for the mild sooth though, and he smiled towards Chris in gratitude, knowing that Ben was looking their way, knowing that he could see every gesture and moment. He wasn’t the only one that could burn. Callum could match him at any point. Judy snuffling softly into his neck, passed out from her exploits, didn’t cover when he knocked his knee against Chris’ underneath the table. It would be clear as day to Ben’s eyes, even with the puffy dress whipping at the table like a piece of giant candy floss.

“Of course, he weren’t the best I’ve ever had,” Ben continued, and Callum could see his jaw set, the frustration building. “That’s got to be a toss up, pardon the pun. There was this Australian guy recently, stacked like a airline carrier he was, not a muscle in his body that weren’t bulging. Then there was this bloke from America last week, from one of those states out in the middle of nowhere that have just got farms and tumbleweed and not a lot else. He could go at it for hours! I couldn’t sit down for days. Overall though, I‘d have to go with the guy from Oz. That one bulging muscle hit a few of the right places. Know what I mean, Alan?”

There was a moment of silence, almost comically really, as though everyone was just calmly accepting the comments. Callum knew differently though. He knew it was the deadly quiet of being in the eye of a storm. At any moment, it would all descend into destruction. It didn’t take long.

It was Alan and Jonno who both raised out of their seats simultaneously, as beer went flying. Ben wasn’t far behind them though, as he rocked out of the booth with gritted teeth. This is what he had wanted. This was the fight he had been pushing for, searching for all afternoon. The one he had been wanting since he slithered in months ago sniffing and snarling among the herd, searching for his prey.

Callum quickly deposited Judy on the seat next to him. She gave a little snort before her head lolled back onto the chair. He quickly gripped Ben’s shirt, just able to pinch a little of it to pull him back, so he could grab his arm that was desperately trying to fling out of his reach.

By some grace of a higher power, Stuart was holding back his dad, trying to calm him down, or at least stop him from flying across the room. “You disgust me!” Jonno said, spitting a large gob of saliva in the direction of Ben, before baring his receding gums and gnashing together his bile coloured teeth. “You are a fucking turd on the bottom of our shoes. Now take that filthy mouth of yours out of here, or we’ll flush it down the bog where it belongs!”

“I didn’t come out here today to get insulted by scum,” Alan scowled out. Fear was evident on his face, Callum could see it, and he knew Ben did too. Thankfully the ashen faced man was being held back by Kev.

“Come out? You want to rephrase that?” Ben said with a humourless laugh.

“Ben!” Callum warned, moving his hand up to just brush a finger tip to his neck, just slightly tickling the hair there, quickly and imperceptibly.

Callum knew he wouldn’t want to out the man in front of them. He wouldn’t do it purposefully. With the look on Alan’s face though, he didn’t know that. He looked terrified of Ben.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Steve said, standing at the door. The voice almost sounded like Steve's dad, though the former landlord had dies a couple of years ago now. “I leave to go down the wholesalers for an hour and I come back to my beer staining the fucking carpet!”

“Ain’t exactly a seventeenth century rug is it, Steve?” Chunky offered. “Hollins took a piss on it last week, we’re hardly likely to see it pop up on Antiques Roadshow.”

“I couldn’t give a flying ball sack if the entire fleet of the Queen’s horses came in and took a shit on it, I don’t have no nonsense in my pub, is that clear?” he announced loudly. “Everyone here is welcome, as long as they keep their fists to themselves and the larger in the glasses. Got it?”

The whole pub rumbled in response, except Joe, the old fishmonger, who just turned the page of his paper, flustered and not even moving a nostril when the glasses had stared flying.

Callum sat back down at the table, pulling Ben’s sleeve with him. He had almost forgotten Chris was with them until he saw him smiling across the table at them.

“Ben, go home,” Callum said, not wanting him here, not knowing how to have him here.

“No, I don’t have to go anywhere,” he said, turning and giving him a glare. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Callum? Do I make your little friend uncomfortable?”

Callum swallowed everything down, tried to keep his face neutral for Chris, hoping it would just look like a mate giving some friendly advice to another when they’d had one too many. He knew he wasn’t falling Ben. “Just go home, please.”

Ben shook his head defiantly. There were words that Callum wasn’t saying, ones that hung between them that Ben could read. “No,” he said, quieter, making the meaning clear. “I’m not done yet. There’s something I need to do before I go home.”

Judy snuffled next to them slightly, mumbling out the word ‘home’ three times before letting out a loud belch. Callum felt her cheek with the back of his hand. She was cold. He turned back to Ben. “Are you going to take her home?”

He shook his head, looking towards Callum knowingly, like he was annoyed he had to play along with this little game when they knew where it was headed. “I’ve had a skinful and almost had a bust up. I need to work that off first."

Ben got up and headed towards the bar, sitting back on his stool. “Ellie,” Callum called out to the barmaid who was just putting on her coat. “You couldn’t take Judy home, could you?”

Ellie sighed heavily before approaching the booth. “Well it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to get young Miss Harrison back to her door in near enough one piece. I just hope her Ma don’t start shrieking at me as if I poured it down her neck, like last time,” she said, pulling up the inebriated woman. “Come on, Judy love. Let’s get you off.”

There was a moment that she was reluctant to let go off Callum, clinging on to his sleeve as if it was the only place she could be. Eventually though, her grip loosened, and Ellie was able to shuffle out the door with her.

“You’ve got some characters in here, haven’t you?” Chris said with a chuckle. “A right little cosy local with a bit of spirit. Hey, it was a bit like that pub we went to with Fleming and Woolf, do you remember?”

It wasn’t. It wasn’t like the pubs they’d sometimes go to. It wasn’t open and accepting. It was draining and tiring. It was like Chris wasn’t really here, but gazing through the looking glass, seeing only part of this world, and missing the horror that lurked out of the frame. He wished he was there with Chris to, just looking in at the façade that was shown. He wished he was away from this hell.

“I’ve got to go soon, promised I’d go give my dad a hand with the gardening,” he said apologetically, downing the rest of his beer. “You know what parents are like; I’m on my leave and I end up getting begged to spend time down the local garden centre with him!”

Callum didn’t. He didn’t know what that was like. Chris has talked about his dad before, in Afghanistan. He sounded wonderful, and he would try and replicate with stories about Jonno but Callum was describing a different father; one who was a bit of a chancer, sure, but a good decent bloke. He wondered if Chris still had that image now he had met him.

“Do you fancy meeting on Tuesday?” Chris said, and he knocked his knee close against Callum’s under the table so they were touching. “For a coffee, or something?”

“I’ve got the doctors that day,” he said, the appointment coming to the front of his brain, pushed and shoved from his mouth by the rebellious thoughts that wanted to take back control. “It’s down Arlen Street. Gonna have to get the bus there.”

Chris smiled back. “I know a little café down there!” he replied, and Callum knew he needed to make a choice. He needed to make the right one. “We can meet after.”

Callum nodded. This was the right choice.

Chris left a couple of minutes later, going over to shake Jonno and Stuart’s hands as farewell. Callum stayed in the booth, finishing off his pint, thinking about Tuesday. It was so simple, and so pure and full of promise. There wasn’t anything thundering through his belly at the thought of a coffee in a café. There was no typhoon that rolled over his head and crashed over him. There wasn’t this whisk of air thrusting through his throat like he was soaring, clinging on to the wings of a dragon.

There wasn’t any of that with Chris.

Callum got up and headed towards the bar door. He didn’t look his way. He didn’t have to. He knew he was paying attention.

Heading upstairs, he didn’t even try and hide the sound of his feet hitting the stairs, there was an urgency in every step, in every fibre that creeped and lived in his body. It had been waiting so patiently, and was now sparking with the excitement of getting what it wanted, what it had craved and desired. He entered the room, empty of the vodka now, and paced towards the window, tapping jitterly with his finger.

It was only a minute until the door swung open again. Callum knew he’d come and find him. He knew it. There wasn’t even any hesitation in their movements, both he and Ben headed for each other at the same time, their lips clashing and arms scraping and scratching at each other' bodies before Callum could even let out a breath.

Callum backed Ben up to the wall, needing something to stabilise them. He moved his lips to Ben’s neck, inhaling the smell before dragging his teeth up the skin, the sensation causing the other man’s leg to tremble, all the sensitive nerves linked. Ben let out a moan, a loud one, and Callum couldn’t help but repeat the action.

“Who is he?” Ben grunted out, his hands stroking down Callum’s thigh.

“A mate from the army,” he replied, sucking on the skin he reddened and maddened with his attack.

There was a huff that echoed around Ben’s body, as he held Callum’s lips closer as they nipped and licked. “A mate? Who d’ya think you’re talking to? He was all over you.”

Ben moved a hand round, grabbing Callum’s arse possessively moving their bodies even closer, as he gripped and grinded his body against his own. There was something that flared up in Callum though, at Ben’s comment, this fire that just soared.

He leaned back and took Ben’s face in his, noticing the determined blotching down one side of his neck. “I thought you were leaving,” he said, connecting their eyes together, and fighting them, provoking them.

“Do you want me to?” Ben huffed back, still rocking his hips into Callum, like they weren’t having this conversation.

“Yes,” he lied, the words slipping out, as he thrust against Ben, still holding his face in place, still battling with their eyes.

Ben laughed, one from his throat that came out with a sputtered exhale and a moan, as the friction hit him in just the right way. “Don’t be delicate about it will you,” he said. “You really know how to complement a bloke when you’re wanking off against him. You’ll get your wish soon enough. Thursday I’m gone. From here, and probably Walford. I’m just going to go to the airport and get on a plane.”

It stunned Callum to stop, to drop Ben’s face from his hands and step back away from his grasp. “I weren't the one talking about all his conquests and yelling them out in the middle of the pub!” Callum shouted, pointing towards the door that led downstairs. “Were you with Alan again, last night?”

Ben gritted his teeth and moved off the wall, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I was!” he shouted back. “Maybe me and him have been at it the whole time! What do you care? At least I didn’t drag some new fella in and have him practically lay on my lap and jerk me off under the table while you were watching. I ain’t cruel, Callum.

“You’re being ridiculous now!” Callum said with a sigh, his voice lower now. “It ain’t like that!”

Ben scoffed, and shook he head, leaning back against the wall, almost in defeat. “He fancies the pants off you, Callum. There was practically a brawl going on and he couldn’t take his eyes off you.” He paused for a second before looking straight into Callum’s eyes. “Did you kiss him?”

This time Callum didn’t lie. He nodded his head.

Swallowing, Ben looked away for just a second, before staring right back again. “Did you like it?”

Callum nodded.

“Did you love it?”

Before Callum had even shaken half his head, Ben was back on him, his lips moving all over Callum’s own, his tongue slipping in and trying to claim. It was protective, and felt dominating, as if he wanted to make sure he knew who he belonged to. It felt spinning, this kiss that had them both grunting into it, their hands appearing everywhere over their bodies, leaving phantom sparks that felt like that had never left, before their fingers found the other's, linking with an unbreakable force and clinging on. It was addictive, and dangerous as colours sparked in front of his eyes, a plethora of vivid shades, brighter than he’d ever seen in any world.

Mr Marcus always said that the animals with the brightest colours were dangerous. They stood out because they were unafraid of predators; they knew there wasn’t anything that could be better than them. When they died though, it wouldn’t be with a whimper, but an implosion. It would be painful.

Callum couldn’t do it. This could only end with hurt. Surely it was better not to feel anything, than feel everything. He pushed Ben away, the hands disconnecting, leaving an emptiness behind. “I can’t do this,” he said, the cry coming in his voice before he even knew it was in his heart. “We can’t do this.”

Ben didn’t lean back this time, he just looked at Callum, his eyes swirling like a warm rippled lake, one that was too deep to see the bottom. The only sound was both their breaths, coming out sharply and audibly, intercepted with slight moans, as though their bodies hadn’t yet realised they’d separated. They were still craving and asking for what they hadn’t had yet.

“You know, I found something out about buttercups the other day.”

Callum looked back at him, furrowing his eyebrows. “What?”

“They’re poisonous to people,” Ben continued. “Can you imagine? Something seeming so sweet, just trying to fit in anywhere it pops up, but actually being able to break someone.”

He didn’t need to say anymore. As the door closed shut after Ben, the sound seemed to bounce back off every wall, ploughing into his body with a force that shattered into his heart. The power of that, and the pain of that was too much, he needed to get rid of it, to numb and overwhelm it. His fist hitting the wall only helped for a second.

On Tuesday morning, he put on a good shirt, trying to look as presentable as he could. There wasn’t much he could do about the multitude of colours that bruised his hand, but he had told so many people now about how he slipped on the bathroom floor that he was beginning to believe it.

He was just about running on time, glancing at his watch as he paced down the steps towards the courtyard. He would have to get the bus, and it was always late, turning up on it’s own whim. When he reached the bottom stair, he stopped.

Walking towards the wall, he knew he could have a minute or two to spare. “Alright, Jude?” he asked the girl, who was sitting on the wall, her green dress contrasting to the rust red of the brick. “How’d your disciplinary meeting go?”

“They gave me the push, didn’t they?” she said, with a sigh, sipping on a Capri-Sun. “Got us on camera nicking, didn’t they? Three sets of tights and fourteen packets of smoked salmon! I always knew fourteen was an unlucky number!”

“I think thirteen’s supposed to be the unlucky one,” he said with a chuckle. “You lifted all that salmon? Where’d you shove it? You didn’t try and walk out with fish stuffed down your knickers, did you?”

She gave him an affectionate slap on his arm. “There are somethings that I won’t shove down there!” she said, offering him a sip of her drink. “It weren’t me that boosted it anyway. I was just covering for someone else.”

Callum sighed. “Jude! They probably wouldn’t have layed you off if it were just the tights! Who were you covering for?”

She shook her head, and lowered it. “I ain’t a grass, Callum. It don’t matter who it was for,” she replied forcefully, as she lifted her hand to brush her hair behind her ear. Her sleeve dropped down a little.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding towards the mark that peaked out from her arm.

Judy pulled her sleeve back down. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to his bruised hand. “Looks like we both been in the wars. Oh! I’ve got something for you!”

Callum looked at her, trying to trace a glimpse of something in her face, before a small paper bag was unceremoniously shoved in front of his eyes. “What’s this?” he asked, taking the bag and having a look inside.

“It’s a Pick and Mix,” she replied with a smile. “I know you like your sweet things!”

Callum’s eyes widened when he noticed the items in the bag. “Jude, their ain’t just sweets in here!”

“Well, I know you like cock too, so I went with a bit of variety! That’s what a Pick and Mix is, Callum! Do you know how many blokes I've had when I’ve got to the stage where they’re trying to stick it in, and then say ‘It’s alright if I don’t have a johnny, ain’t it?’! A girl’s got to be prepared, and so have you!” she said, with an authoritative nod.

“Jude, I’m just off to the doctors and then meeting Chris for a coffee. I can’t take it with me! I’m late for the bus as it is!” he said, glancing at his watch.

“Alright, I’ll keep it for now!” she remarked with a sigh. “I’ll drop it round on Thursday morning. You can tell me all about your date with Prince Charming. Let me know if your Hot Cross Bunny turns up and tries to win you back. I like a happy ending.”

Callum shook his head. “He won’t. That’s done,” he replied, as he saw a figure approaching them. One that made his jaw set. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking Judy out,” Mo said, swinging an arm over Judy’s shoulders. “We’re back on aren’t we, gorgeous?”

She nodded, but didn’t meet Callum’s eyes. “Things always work out in the end,” she whispered, giving him a wink as they walked off.

Callum hated the doctors, the smell that seemed to permeate everything; impersonal and ubiquitous. There were chairs stacked to the side in clear rows and little broken toys in the corner. The magazines never changed, all well thumbed and cluttered onto a small table. The breeze swept through the blinds. He couldn’t work out the colour. They were flavourless and just drifted with the tepid air.

He looked around at the faces in the room. They all blurred to one, there wasn’t one person he knew or even recognised. He was far from home, and it felt strange to have people around who he didn’t know and who didn’t know him.

The doctor he was seeing today was new to him as well. Growing up, he always had the same GP. Doctor Morgan had been his physician since he was a baby. He’d always had grey faded hair and wire glasses perched on his nose, for as long as Callum knew him.

He was a competent doctor, at least he always seemed to be. His stethoscope always hung trustingly around his neck, and neutral leather ran throughout his office. He always got on well with Callum, gave him antibiotics when he needed it. Prescribed him cream for football injuries when he needed it. There was only that one time he didn’t quite give him what he needed.

It was a long time ago now. It had been Mr Marcus who had told him to go to the doctor. He suggested talking to his dad at first, but Callum said he couldn’t as he was wiping away the tears that fell onto the school carpet, twisting an offered hankie in his hands. He was lanky sixteen year old, and his teacher had met him after school because his last piece of coursework wasn’t up to scratch. Callum was worried he wouldn’t pass his GCSEs. He didn’t need a lot, he didn’t want a lot. He knew he’d go into the army after school was done. He just wanted to prove them wrong for once, and always worked hard for Mr Marcus.

He had made an appointment with the doctor; he always made his own anyway, the receptionist knew him well. Mr Marcus was always right, he knew what he was talking about, so this would have to help. The doctor would help. He’d always cleared up his chest infection when he had antibiotics, and those muscle pains from football always got better. This would get better too.

He had walked in the door that day, the smell of leather overwhelming his palate. He didn’t know what to say. How did you say it? It was easy to say you had a cough, or your hamstring was hurting. He didn’t know what was hurting. He just knew that it was.

“Your father doing alright, Callum?” he had asked. They didn’t move in the same circles, the doctor and Jonno. They weren’t from the same world. Only they were. His dad had done some work on Doc Morgan’s house a few times. They would have chatted about the ways of the world, how some people were coming over and making it harder for normal men like them to make a farthing. It wasn’t like it in their day. That’s not how they grew up, when life was fair for everyone. They had probably agreed as the doctor leaned against his jaguar parked outside his mansion before his dad walked home to their grotty flat, not enough change to get the bus.

“Yeah,” he answered briefly, staring at the skeleton on the shelf by the window. It was a reminder of time, of the precariousness of the human body. It had tape round some of its joints and it looked like it was missing a rib. “He’s got a job over Lewisham at the moment.”

“Good, good,” he replied, getting his stethoscope ready. “What seems to be the problem today? Have you made another of those sliding tackles in football again?”

Callum shook his head. He didn’t think Doc Morgan knew much about football, not when he had cricket pictures, and paraphernalia up behind his desk. That’s why the stench of leather must be so prevalent in here.

He didn’t know how to explain it. Mr Marcus seemed to just know, but with the old medic sitting behind the desk, peering over spectacles it was hard to describe. Impossible to say what it really felt like swimming around in his mind. “My head hurts.”

Doctor Morgan took the literal meaning, and seemed to nod his head, finally glad to receive a symptom. He came round and got Callum to lift his shirt, the stethoscope biting on his chest before moving back. His breaths in and out were forcing words closer and closer to his tongue. He had his temperature checked and then his throat examined. He wondered if it could be seen. He wondered if he looked different from everyone else, not just felt different.

“Well you look right as rain to me, old chum,” Doc Morgan replied, going round to take a seat. It might be just a few headaches from hitting those books too hard. Its your exams soon, am I right? I’ll give you a prescription for something to help. You know my old mentor used to say that a man only needed three things to keep well; a good brain in his head, a strong heart to help him work and the nerve to keep going. I think you’ve got all three here!”

He didn’t know what provoked it. It was like someone somewhere pressed a button that broke down a dam. Before he knew it, a choke was bubbling up his throat and his eyes were watering. “Do you have a pain elsewhere, old chap?” the doctor asked, bringing his chair round so he was facing Callum.

“I’m just so tired all the time,” he confessed. “I can’t sleep, I can’t concentrate and I’ve just got all these things rumbling about my head and they won’t stay still. I’ve got all these feelings, ones I’m supposed to have for girls, and I can’t get rid of them,” he admitted. He knew it, and it was just getting stronger in his mind. He knew it when he saw Sarah Puddle getting off with Mark Cooper on the back of the coach when they were returning from Hampton Court. He wished it were him in Sarah’s place. It was Mark’s hands and mouth he imagined on him. “I can’t get them to go away!”

Doc Morgan shuffled his chair back when he heard the end of Callum’s confession, standing up and going to sit over the other side of the desk. He didn’t pat his arm, like Mr Marcus did, or offer him a tissue or fumble about for a Mars bar in his bag to split, like his teacher did. He just carried on writing the prescription like Callum had never opened his mouth.

“It’s exam stress,” the doctor said sternly. “It will pass in a few weeks, and then you’ll be back down the park kicking a football around with your mates, happy as anything. It’s just the exams, Callum. They’re a lot for a lot for young men from your area to cope with. You’re interested in joining the army when your older, aren’t you? That will be good for you. Just put everything else back in your mind. You’re in control, you just push it away and it won’t come back. Here you are.”

Doc Morgan slid the prescription over the desk, pulling his fingers back quickly. Callum took it, the piece of thin paper, playing with the corner as he stood up. “Thanks,” he mumbled, heading towards the door. “You won’t tell my dad, will you?”

“I’m not allowed, Callum,” he said, tidying his desk with his eyes down. “I wouldn’t anyway. As I said, this will all go away, you just have to hold your nerve.”

The painkillers he’d been prescribed hadn’t helped, and the noise in his head continued long after his exams, and long into joining the army. It had never gone away. He didn’t really blame Doc Morgan though. He never did have the courage, he probably never did, to push it to the back of his brain hard enough. It was free now, those feelings that were hidden. It turned out that they brought a whole new world of pain. A whole new mess to get himself out from.

A head popped around the door of the waiting room, a young woman with long dark hair. “Mr Highway?” she called.

He got up quickly trying to follow her so he didn’t lose her in the maze of hallways to her door, but she walked slowly, making sure she was always in his sight. The doctor gave him a smile as she closed the door of her office behind him, going to sit down at the computer.

“I always used to see Doctor Morgan, when I was younger,” he explained, filling the silence. He’d gone back to the old doctor, even after that time. It was professional, with clipped conversations and only if Callum really needed to see him. Only for something where he needed antibiotics. Only for the sports cream. He was never even sure if the old doctor knew what he was asking or confessing that day, but he certainly didn’t mention it again. “He’s always been our family doctor.”

“He retired a few years ago,” she said, clicking on the keys at the computer, but still smiling towards him. “Heard he and his wife went to live by the coast. How’s your injury, Callum?”

It startled him a little how she knew, how he didn’t have to tell her. “It’s feeling a lot better than it was but I’m still getting a few twinges,” he said, fiddling with the arm rest on the chair. “I think it’s looking alright.”

“I’m not surprised its still giving you discomfort,” she told him, getting up and walking around the desk. “My dad was in the army, was injured in service as well. It wasn’t the same as you, but it can still take time to heal. If you jump up and lift your shirt up when you’re ready, I’ll take a look.”

He didn’t glance down at it, this scar that lurched into his side. Callum never could really take a look; he blurred it out when he looked in the mirror. It seemed like it was all those feelings he kept hidden away, trying desperately to get out. He just held his breath and looked at the window sill while the doctor examined it. The skeleton wasn’t there on her shelf, instead it was full of photographs of the doctor with different people. They looked so happy. There was nothing broken about it.

Finally, the doctor stood back, and motioned for Callum to pull his shirt down. He saw her glance at his hand, and the bruising that shone out from it. There was no acknowledgement of the mark though. He slipped off the examination bed, and took his seat again. “You’re right, it’s healing nicely, The doctors did a brilliant job,” she said, typing something onto the computer. She was able to do it while still looking towards him. “It’s still got a way to go though; you want to make sure you’re not overdoing it. You’ve been through a lot, Callum.”

“It’s fine,” he said, picking at the arm rest. “It’ll all get better soon and I’ll be back in the army.”

He didn’t hear anything for a moment, and then looked up to see she had left her desk and dragged a chair over next to him. “Have they talked to you about medical discharge?” she said quietly, as though she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “You’ve got good grounds. You’re not expected to do anything that’s going to cause you pain.”

“Well, like you said, it’s healing alright,” he replied. “It only hurts a little now.”

“That’s not the only pain, Callum,” she said, smiling towards him. He wasn’t looking but he knew she was smiling. “You went through more than anyone can imagine. If you want to apply to the board, then you have my support. Just come back to me when you’re ready, alright? I’ll do all I can. I’ll get you some information as well. They’ve got some great contacts and groups on the list I’m going to give you.”

Callum nodded feeling those tears build a little. It felt overwhelming to have someone come and swipe your pain away rather than have to keep pushing yourself all the time. He felt himself want to open up a little more. “Thanks. I’m just having a bad week,” he said. He hesitated, but found the words flying off his tongue anyway. “Someone I’ve been seeing, this boy, it sort of ended between us.”

Doctor stopped from where she was printing. He had let his mouth run away again. He’d been drawn in and said too much. “I wish I could prescribe something for a broken heart!” she said with soft eyes. “It would have saved me a lot of money on ice cream in the past! You don’t sound that you’re happy it’s over, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“It’s not the best thing for me,” Callum said, feeling a little lighter. “We’re not the best for each other. No one thinks it’s a good idea.”

“What do you think?” she asked. “Callum, sometimes what works on paper isn’t always what makes us happiest. You’ve got to reach in and figure out what you want, not what you think is for the best or what other people think is a good idea.”

He nodded. It wasn’t that easy. Ben wasn’t easy. “Thanks, Doctor,” he said as she opened the door.

“Take care, Callum,” she replied, patting him on the arm. “Get home safely.”

He went to the reception desk and glanced at the names on the wall. He wrote down Doctor Ruby’s name and considered the advice. It seemed right, but it didn’t seem possible.

He walked along the high street, squinting up at each building, trying to find the café he was meeting Chris at. There was a loud hustle and bustle as cars and mopeds sped eagerly along the road. Buses stopped at their shelter, passengers pouring on and off, appearing like demand as their digital display correctly ordered them onto the appropriate vehicle.

There was music wafting out, an indecipherable acoustic guitar song, that seemed to strum from vintage shop to health food stores, the tunes changing, but not recognisably so.

Finally, he reached the café, seeing Chris in the window give him a wave. Callum came in and gave him a quick stroke of his back as a greeting and smiled as he sat down. “I got you a drink, plenty of sugar like you always have,” Chris said, motioning the mug that sat before him. “Doctors alright?”

Callum nodded, pulling the cup towards him. “Yeah, fine. Just getting my side checked,” he said. The information the doctor printed for him was burning a hole in his pocket. He looked around the café, the hiss of the coffee machine rattling out as the bleep of the contactless card reader joined in the tune. There was an array of clacks and clicks as laptops were opened, their owner’s heads buried deep in the keys, as the same acoustic guitar riff seemed to play in here as well. “Do they sell cake here?”

“You can’t possibly need any more sugar, with that lot crammed in that mug!” Chris chuckled, before taking Callum’s hand. It stilled him. The act being done so blatantly. It was simple, just Chris’ hand covering his, no fingers linked and connected “We should talk.”

“Well, I thought that’s why we were here; having a chat over coffee,” he replied. He didn’t move his hand. He liked the feeling of Chris’ on his. It was comforting and understanding. He didn’t want that to go away.

“I want to chat about us,” Chris replied. “I don’t want to push you into anything. I think maybe that kiss we had in Afghanistan was a bit too rushed. It was too fast. I think we should just go steady and slow, be a bit rational about it.”

That sounded ok. There was a banging in his head, a large warming rattle and fire that was trying to shout. They were all zoomed away in the cage, locked away for now. He was doing just what Doc Morgan told him to all those years ago. Push it back, it’ll go away eventually. So that hadn’t worked this time, but he didn’t need to push Ben away forever. Just long enough. Chris wasn’t forcing anything. It could go back to before, being together in Afghanistan, cooking together and sharing a joke.

“But I think you know how I feel about you. I think you feel that way too,” Chris continued, and the weight of his hand was still heavy on Callum’s. He wanted cake. He really wanted cake. “We don’t know how long it’s gonna be before you get the all clear from the docs, so I think while I’m back we should give it a go.”

Lemon drizzle cake, that’s what he wanted. The sticky sponge with the light citrus air. It was sharp and sweet, it caught on your tongue and lingered for hours, every time you licked your lips it just buzzed through you. That’s what he really wanted. Though he wouldn’t turn down a Victoria sponge, the decadent and sinful cream squeezing out, bleeding in the sweet red jam as it covered the airy cake, the sharpness melting in and merging, giving a tingle to your tongue. He wasn’t sure which one he wanted, but he knew he wanted cake. He needed cake.

“H?” Chris said quietly. “What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, what are you asking?” he said, shaking his head and taking a sip of his drink. It needed more sugar, but his hand was under Chris’. He wouldn’t be able to move it, and he didn’t want to when it was so reassuring, so calm. He didn’t want to ask for more.

Chris just laughed. “You don’t change do you! I was saying that I’m going round to my sister’s for lunch on Thursday, nothing special, just a few sandwiches and that,” he explained. “Do you want to come with me?”

“To your sister’s?” he replied, checking he was hearing correctly. “I ain’t never met her!”

“That’s the whole point,” Christ explained. “I want you to meet her. I want her to meet you. Do you know what I’m getting at?”

Callum shook his head. He wasn’t any good with sisters. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do or say. When he was on his way home, and left Chris, maybe he could get cake then. There was a bakery by the bus stop. They had the best sticky buns.

“Let me spell it out,” Chris replied, bringing him out of his thoughts again. “Callum Highway, would you go on a date with me this Thursday?”

Everything stopped. Everything. All he felt was the comforting hand on his. It was reassuring, it was kind and it made him feel cared for. Everything else was just his selfishness creeping in. He could shut it out. He could shut out all of it. “Yeah,” he said. “Alright then.”

No, his mind screamed. No.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @blueangel0909 on twitter
> 
> @moodyblueangel on tumblr
> 
> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	13. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that Callum's world isn't always a happy one. Please heed the tags.

As Callum entered the pub on Thursday morning, he was knocked into by two men. Their hard faces and lack of apology told him all he needed to know. He put his head down and tried not to catch either of their eyes. They weren’t people to mess with, and he knew he could lose a finger just for smiling at them the wrong way. Whatever they were at The Pig for, it wasn’t going to be good.

When he walked through the bar, he saw Steve, staggered down at one of the tables, with his head in his hands, looking shaken. Callum went to the shelf, and poured out a shot of whiskey, taking it to the landlord, whose hands were still slightly trembling.

“What was that all about?” he asked, as he placed the drink in front of the man. “They don't look like our regular customers!”

Steve just looked up for him, almost like he was wondering whether he could trust him or not. “Apparently someone around Canning Town Has been offloading a bastard load of vodka on their territory, or their bosses land anyway. He ain't happy about it!”

Callum rolled his eyes leaning forward on the table. “Mate! What have you done?” he said, knowing that all the alcohol that had been littering his upstairs room this whole time was going to cause more trouble than it was worth. “I don't get it! Why would you go into that sort of business knowing that the competition will kick your head in when they find out? It was you that was selling on that hooky booze, weren’t it?”

“Trust me, there's nothing that can link me back to it!” he said giving a little breath of a relief, as he calmed himself. “You think I'd risk losing my kneecaps? All I did was store it here and get in touch with a few contacts. I'm not the one they’re looking for, and they believe that. It was a one time thing Callum, I'm not in the habit of entertaining the local gangsters if I can help it.”

Callum squinted at him with confusion. “I don't get it,” he replied, trying to come up with an answer. “Why do it at all if it was just a one time thing? That's a lot of risk even if it is a load of cash. What do you need that amount of money for anyway?”

Steve looked towards Callum, and was just about to open his lips to say something when he seemed to change his mind. Maybe because he knew or sensed what Callum had been doing with Ben, something that disgusted him. Maybe he just didn't trust Callum as much as he hoped he would.

“It don't matter anyway! What does matter though, is me getting the bar set up for lunchtime. You sure you can't help me out today?” he asked, putting down the rest of the stools from the table.

Callum shook his head. “No, I've got something to do today,” he replied, and his stomach lurched. “But I'll be in tomorrow.”

He was just deciding which shirt to put on for his date with Chris, when there was a knock at the front door. Stuart and Jonno were off working with Dogger for a few days, just North of Watford, so he knew he was the only one that could go. Flinging down the shirts onto the bed, he quickly jogged to the door to answer it.

“Oh thank God you're in!” Judy replied, as a sea of yellow rushed past him. He didn’t think it was possible she could find the same tone of dress, shoes, cardigan and bag that matched her hair, but apparently she managed it.

Judy stormed into his room and threw herself down on the bed, the mattress giving a groan and a squeak at her exuberance. “I hate job hunting!” she said, chewing loudly on some gum.

“Not on the shirts!” he yelled, with a tut, as he pulled the blue one out from where it was creased under Judy’s arm. Thankfully, the grey was by the pillow and he quickly rescued it, hanging it on the wardrobe before she spat her bubble gum out on it. “I’ve just ironed those!”

“Someone’s going a bit snazzy!” she replied, leaning her head on her elbows as she watched him move about the room. “Another hot date with Captain Marvellous, is it? Come on, spill all. What happened?”

Callum gave her a roll of his eyes. “It was just a coffee!” he remarked, taking off his old jeans, and pulling on a clean fitted pair. “We just had a chat for an hour. It ain’t a hot date anyway, it’s just lunch with his sister.”

“You’re going on a date, while the bloke’s sister is sitting there cutting cucumber sandwiches into fancy little triangles?” she said with a frown, laying on her front and swinging her legs in the air. “That’s really going to put you in the mood for a shag, ain’t it?”

“I ain’t going to shag him, Jude!” he protested. “It’s only our second date, and we’re round his sister’s house!”

“Please, if it were a date with Mardy Boots, you’d be banging him on the potato salad before you’d even said grace,” she replied. “You could have half of Canning Town sitting around watching and you’d still be balls deep in him before they could cream the trifle.”

“Jude!” he said, getting out a clean pair of socks, and slamming the drawer shut. “This ain’t helping! Which shirt do you think I should wear?”

“I’m just trying to give a bit of advice! Make sure you take the right path, is all,” she said with a sigh, as she twirled a thread on her sleeve. “Go with the blue one.”

Callum looked back at her. “I know what I’m doing, Jude. I’ve thought it all through,” he replied, looking between both bits of clothing. “The blue one? It’s old and now got a large crease in it. The grey one’s much smarter and sophisticated, don’t you think?”

“Sophisticated? You ain’t going to church, Callum!” she said. “By the sound of it, Sir Wonderful won’t have you down on your knees in any way, shape or form. The blue matches your eyes. It matches his, and all.”

“Chris had brown eyes,” he said, hitting the blue shirt and seeing if the creases would come out. If anything it just added to them.

“Not his eyes. ‘His’ eyes,” she clarified. “Grumpy Lamp Chop that you’re head over heels about. I’d have thought you’d notice the colour; you never look away from them.”

Callum came and sat on the bed next to her. “It’s done, Jude. It was never gonna go anywhere. We ain’t right for each other. Chris is a really good guy, and he’s handsome, and sweet. Ain’t that’s always you’re saying you want?”

“Well, yeah, I want that for me,” she replied, leaning on her elbow to look up at him. “You want a bit of excitement though, Callum. You want that person that keeps you on that tightrope. When you’re around him, you just light up. It’s wonderful.”

“Well he’s gone now, ain’t he?” Callum said, remembering what Ben had told him. He was probably sitting on a plane somewhere, landing in a foreign land, and he’d never give Callum a second thought. “No point trying to go back. I though you couldn’t stand him anyway.”

“He’s a snarky, moany, arrogant arse and it’s a miracle he still has a gob on his face! It's a constant surprise that someone hasn’t smacked the smirk off his mouth by now!” she exclaimed. “How can I not like that? Besides, he adores you, and how can I not love someone that looks at you like you planted each and every star just for him.”

“That’s just it, Jude! He don’t! He’s off with his prick down Alan’s throat,” Callum replied, his anger getting up a little. “I ain't nothing special.”

Judy screwed up her face. “Are you sniffing at the right end of the marker? He ain’t been anywhere near Alan!”

“Alan told me, Jude! He said they were together the day after he stayed the night,” he explained, the thought rotting heavily in his stomach.

“You’re listening to that dick?” she asked, frowning at his comments. “Really? Callum, if life were a box of Celebrations, Alan would be the Bounty. Actually scrap that, he’d be a wrapper that someone just tossed back in the box. You, sweetness, are the Malteser. Ben may be a first class badger bollock sometimes, but I can guarantee I know which one he’d shove in his gob.”

Callum just shrugged and started to pick at the sheet with his fingers. “I don’t think so. I ain’t exactly experienced. He probably finds me a bit boring.”

Judy gave him a shove on his leg. “Well, that weren’t what he was saying after your little field trip,” she said with a knowing grin. “Oh, that reminds me!”

She reached into her bag and fumbled around a little. When she removed her hand, it contained the same striped paper bag that she showed him on Tuesday. She threw it onto the bed behind them. “I don’t think I’m going to be needing that,” he said, barely able to bring his eyes to look at it. “I’m hardly going to take it with me, am I?

“I thought you were going for sophistication and manners?” she reminded him, with her eyebrows raised. “It’s just rude not to turn up to someone’s house without chocolate and a bottle of lube.”

“Me and Chris ain’t shagging today, Jude!” Callum exclaimed, dropping his head to his hand. “He ain’t like that. He won’t rush me.”

“Well just in case Mr Perfect does change into Mr Tickle Hands, you know what to do, yeah? I know you’ve got to the first corner with Ben, but you still need to make it round the whole track, don’t you?”

“I know about sex, Jude,” he replied, lowering his voice, even though there was no one else around. “We had Sex ed. at school, didn’t we?”

She gave a loud laugh then that filled the air with a wryness. “Oh darlin’, we really didn’t! Why’d you think most the boys in your year are either knee deep in sprogs or got more crabs than a fishmongers?”

Callum just gave a shrug. He wasn’t like those other boys. "It’s irrelevant, anyway, because its just lunch. Nothing more.”

“Yeah, but you’re going to boink him at some point if you keep seeing him,” she replied. “If you’re waiting for that same feeling you get with Ben, it ain’t just gonna appear, hon.”

“I know Chris, and he knows me, we’ve been close for years. I care a lot about him Jude. Plus he’s gorgeous, right?” he asked, wanting her to convince him. Needing someone to convince him.

She nodded. “Yeah, he’s a looker. I can see why you like him,” she replied. “But he’s still a bloke who’s probably been imagining you naked and spread out for the past few years. You imagined him like that?”

“Well, yeah, back in the army,” Callum said, blushing a little. “I used to wonder what it would be like to kiss him, and touch him. I used to get a rush from those thoughts about him and some of the other lads in the force. Then I just pushed them all away.”

“And what were it like, when you finally kissed him?” she asked, twirling her hair.

“It was good,” he replied. And it was. It was good. “Wait, how do you know me and Chris kissed?”

She tapped her nose. “A little angry bird told me,” she said, with a knowing glint in her eye. “Right, so say it all goes well today. You make a good bit of small talk with the sister over some fondant fancies and he starts feeling you up under the lace tablecloth while she’s pouring out the tea. After, you go back to his flat, settle down on the sofa. Then what?”

“I don’t know,” Callum said, tearing a little corner of the paper bag. “Have a bit of a kiss and cuddle, I guess.”

“Oh Callum!” she said, rolling on to her back and hanging her head off the end of the bed. “You’ve got to think about this, otherwise you’re going to go off like a rocket when you get your mole in a hole. Come on! Bring the bag.”

She threw herself off the bed and headed out the bedroom, and Callum followed her with a sigh, checking his watch as he went. He would have to start getting ready soon.

Callum followed Judy into the kitchen, slinging the bag down on the sofa as he went. When he joined her, he found her head already stuck in the fridge. “Do you have a cucumber?” she asked, slamming the door closed with a sigh. “Of at least something similar. A leek? We could make do with a wonky carrot, frankly.”

“No!” he said, putting his hand over the cupboard she was trying to open. “Judy, I don’t need this. I can put a rubber on!”

She looked at him sceptically, as she went back into the lounge, going to perch onto the arm of the chair. “I just want to make it good for you,” she said, her voice low and quiet. “You deserve your first proper time to be perfect. I mean nothing’s perfect and sex is more stickiness and sweat than anything else, but it can be so much more than that with the right person. It can take your mood from nothingness to everything in just a few moments.”

“Like turning grey into colour?” he asked, and she nodded with a quirk of her lips. She was so vivid and bright, he didn’t understand why she would settle for anything less. “Why you back with Mo?”

She lowered her eyes and distracted her hand by pulling and fiddling with the trinkets on the cabinet. “I love him, don’t I?” she said, pulling the lid off the china dish, picking up one of the sweets and placing it in her mouth. “He’s finished with Aleena, and said he wanted me back. He said that he’d been stupid and I was the only one for him.”

“And you believe him?” Callum asked, as Judy crunched on the sweet noisily, before taking another one. She gave a half-hearted nod to his question and a small shrug. “Jude, how’d you get those marks on your arms. Was it him?”

There was just the sound of crunching for a minute, as Judy pulled her already long sleeves down her arms further, so the cuffs covered her palms. “No, he’d never hurt me like that,” she said softly, taking another sweet. “It was someone who ain’t worth anyone’s time. God, Callum, what are these things? They’re disgusting.”

“They’re violet flavoured,” he said with a laugh as she screwed up her face, and then dropped off the arm of the chair to sit huddled next to him. “You ate enough of them.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had something wretched in my mouth, would it?” she said, sticking out her tongue. “It tastes like I’m eating perfume! Smells like our lounge at home, and all. Mum has all these horrid white lilies and carnations dotted around. Stinks up the place. I ain’t allowed anything that ruins her perfect presentation though. I brought a sunflower home from school in a pot once, we’d been growing them in Science, and I thought it might brighten up the place. She only went and chucked it out in the skip bin! That was probably the only thing I ever did right at school, and it ended up in the wheelie.”

He looked at Judy, her eyes clouded and dulled. “Do they hurt?” he asked, running his hand gently down her sleeve, before hooking an arm around her shoulders.

She shook her head. “No, I’ve taken something to help. Plus you know me, made of steel, ain’t I?” she replied, snuggling her head into his chest. They sat like that for a minute, just silent and still. “You’re my favourite person.”

He smiled and gave her a little kiss on the forehead. “You’re my favourite person too,” he replied.

Judy looked up and scowled up at him. “Liar,” she said. “He’s your person.”

He didn’t need to ask who she meant, and he wouldn’t do her a disservice by trying to fool her otherwise. “What, I’m not allowed two? That don’t seem fair,” he replied, giving an exaggerated mock huff.

She sighed and let a little giggle slip, before clinging tightly to him a little more. “I’ll allow it. I don’t mind sharing you. Not with him,” she said. “Don’t let him get away, Callum.”

“I don’t want him to go,” he admitted, quietly in secret, the honesty dripping out now. “I ain’t gotta choice though.”

“You’ve always got a choice,” she replied, her tone more profound that he had ever heard it. “Until it’s too late. Don’t leave it too late, Callum. You might lose him for good. Somethings you just can’t come back from.”

They sat there quietly for another few minutes, the silence whirling around them.

“I should start to get going soon,” he said reluctantly. He considered calling Chris, cancelling his lunch, but he didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Though he knew he’d have to send Judy away now. “I've got to get all the way to Gulch Road. I don’t want to turn up late and make a fool of myself.”

“You won’t!” Judy said, climbing off the chair and strolling back into the bedroom to get her bag. She returned a minute or two later, with it slung over her shoulder. “Okay quick tips; if you’re gonna deep throat then get the angle of your head right, spit really don’t do shit and dries so please use the lube, and change your rhythm up a bit; no one likes a Ploddy McPlod banging out a two beat groove throughout it all. Probably not even Private Perfect Pants.”

Callum just laughed and shook his head. “I’ll try and remember all that!” he said as Judy leaned up and gave him a peck on his lips. “I’ll see you later, Jude.”

“Remember, you always have a choice, Callum. Until you don’t,” she said, wiping the lipstick off him and disappearing out the door.

He went back into the bedroom, and looked at the two shirts hanging up on the wardrobe. He stared for a few minutes, his thoughts whirring in his head, before taking one down, opening the door and placing it back in. He quickly took the other one off the hanger and started to put it on.

Callum cleared his throat a few times, before ringing the doorbell, and clutching at the item in his hand. He glanced around the front garden; a Toyota sitting happily on the gravelled driveway as a range of shrubs bordered the walls on either side. It was a nice street, with quiet and nameless faces who smiled at him as they walked along the road.

The door swung open, and Chris beamed out brightly to him. “Alright, H?” he said standing aside so Callum could come in. They had a mat on the outside which he had already wiped his feet on, but apparently they needed two, one on the inside as well, so he scuffed his trainers against the second as well. “Oh if you just want to put your shoes down on the side.”

Callum gave Chris a peck on the cheek, as he slid his shoes off with the heel of his foot. He wondered if it was customary to sit down and do it, or if they had one of those shoe polish seats, but he guessed it was acceptable to just kick them off. He wasn’t immediately thrown out, so that was promising.

“Vick!” Chris called down the hallway, rubbing Callum’s back gently. “H is here! Come on, I’ll take you through to the dining room.”

He followed as Chris went through to the next door. The room was large, with magnolia walls and with a sturdy dining room table in the middle, already dressed and laid ready for a meal. It looked like they were expecting the Queen, and Callum felt both embarrassed and flattered that they’d gone to so much trouble for him.

A beautiful young woman came into the room, drying her hands with a tea towel. Her smile was wide, as she came in, and it lit up her face. “It’s so lovely to meet you finally, Callum,” she said, and she moved in to give him a big hug. “Its feels like I know you already, Chris talks about you so much!”

“Does he?” Callum said with a quick grin, but he wasn’t sure if it reached his eyes. It was intimidating though, knowing someone knew parts of your life, but not knowing what information they had. Not being able to control it or even knowing if they were the parts of you that were true. “All good things, I hope! Oh, these are for you.”

He handed over Vicky a box of Roses chocolates a little sheepishly, wondering if he should have gone for something a bit more upmarket. He was avoiding the Co-op for the moment, in case he ran into Mo, and as a little show of unity for Judy. There wasn’t exactly a lot of choice at the local newsagent, but he could have maybe splurged for some of those fancy seashell chocolates.

“Oh you shouldn’t have,” she said, and her expression was genuine, like he’d just handed her some posh truffles from Harrods. “It’s very sweet of you, and I must make the worst impression. I look a mess from making lunch!”

Callum shook his head. “No, you look great,” he offered. It was lovely to say something and it be treated with gratitude. Strange, but nice all the same. “Can I help with anything?”

“No, you’re our guest, take a seat and I’ll bring everything through!” she said, dashing back in the direction of what he assumed was the kitchen.

He pulled out one of the chairs from the table, it was heavy and felt unyielding in his hand. Sliding in, he started shuffling his chair as it rubbed on the carpet. It felt deep against his toes, like he may sink into it, drown in a sea of fluff.

Chris sat down next to him, and immediately took his hand. It was so nice, and he looked at Callum with those caring brown eyes that told him he was safe here, and nothing would happen out of the ordinary. It was a strange place, one with oak framed photographs littering the mantel, and pristine ceramic statues of faceless figures caught in an embrace, but Chris being here helped. He knew that nothing unexpected would happen, or anything out the blue.

Vicky appeared again at the door, bringing through a cake stand laden with cucumber sandwiches, snaked in cream cheese on soft white bread, and peach smoked salmon slathered delicately between beige slices. “Callum, I’m just going to open some wine,” she said, adjusting the stand. “Would you like red or white?”

“Oh, I’ll have whatever you’re opening,” he said with a smile, keeping his hands clenched together on the table, but careful to keep his elbows off the cloth. It was so clean, and pressed to perfection. He could feel Chris’ hand still resting on his knee, still heavy and deliberate, and still screaming out as wrong in this world of lace and oak finishes. “Anything’s fine.”

“Let’s go for white shall we?” Chris offered, squeezing his leg. “Remember when we were at that bar, H, and we got right tipsy on a bottle of Chardonnay? Well you did, I can handle my drink!”

Callum joined in with the laugh, the air feeling a little stuffy around the collar of his shirt, and his leg feeling heavy. It was perhaps weighed down with the knowledge of where this could lead to, knowing that later they could be on a bed together. Knowing that they would have their hands on each other, and it made him feel sick.

It was ridiculous really, and he knew it wasn’t because he didn’t find Chris attractive. That he hadn’t imagined everything that could happen that evening. The actual act of going through with it was what his body seemed to be resisting to. He didn’t know what to do, or how he was supposed to get through it. In truth, he just wanted to get it over with if it did happen. Didn’t want to feel, or think. He just wanted it to happen, without feeling anything. Maybe then he could relax around Chris, feel the comfortable energy that he used to when he knew that sex wasn’t on the table.

Vicky came back in the room, another huge platter in one hand and a bottle in another. She set down the plate, filled with pickles and cheese, crudites of vegetables and some nameless pale dips in their white ramekins. She filled the three wine glasses on the table, the wine splashing in with a splosh.

“Cheers,” Chris said, picking up his glass. His hand was still resting on Callum’s knee. It was comforting and warm and safe. It was stifling and smothering, and he didn’t know how long it was going to be there. His ankle itched. “Here’s to us, and whatever the future may hold.”

Callum picked up his glass, and carefully clinked his shiny, smear free glass with the two siblings around him. He held the rim to his lips and had a small sip, the floral notes hitting his nose and sliding down his palate, clashing with the sterile alcohol burn that hit his lips. His mouth felt dry, like he needed to have another sip to remedy it, but knowing that would only cause his throat to feel more encased.

He set it on the table, noticing a small droplet creeping down the side of the glass. It magnified and reflected the room, distorting all the loveliness into a horrific, bloated and widened sight.

“Chris told me about your injury, Callum,” Vicky said, putting her hand gently over his as her tone was sympathetic. It was lovely and caring, but inside the wine droplet it looked overbearing, her hand engulfing his tiny and twisted wrist. Down the droplet fell even further. “Do you think you’ll be able to go back to the army?”

Chris started to serve him up some sandwiches, his hand removing itself from Callum’s knee, as his fingers shuffled the crumbly bread on to his plate. “I don’t know, really,” he said, picking up a cucumber one and nibbling on the end, the watery slices soaking into the white triangles. The droplet was halfway down now, and he could see his face reflecting back, magnifying the uncertainty there. “It all depends on the doctors really.”

“He’ll be back,” Chris said, rubbing his back like he had done when he first came in, as Callum chewed the cucumber with a crunch and a slurp. “He’ll make his way back there somehow, won’t you, H?”

Callum nodded, and the droplet was at the base now, sliding slowly before it fell onto the pristine white cloth, staining and spreading, darkening the tone. He just took another bite of his sandwich, the crummy texture sticking in his throat, balling into a dough in his gullet so his breath had to squeeze and slither through, building a pressure in his chest. The sloppy cucumber only seemed to sludge down after it, slowly pushing it towards his stomach. “Yeah, I mean, I’m feeling really good, getting better every day,” he said, his heart warming when he saw the beam Chris gave at his response. “I’m sure I’ll be back in no time.”

The wine was still bleeding into the table cloth, darkening and spreading, the one imperfection among this pristine room, and these flawless humans that he was sitting with. They continued to eat their lunch as Vicky and Chris parlayed stories of their youth.

“Do you remember when we went to the seaside?” Vicky laughed out with a strong giggle. “And you dropped your ice cream, so Mum and Dad had to buy you another one? Then you dropped it again, so you had to get a third! It turned out, Callum, that he didn’t like ice cream at all, and was just dropping it to make it go away!”

“Poor Mum and Dad, just kept on buying me another one so I didn’t get upset,” Chris said laughing along, as he finished off a bit of cheese and cracker. “And every time they just got it bigger and bigger. That last one was about four scoops high!”

Callum smiled along, or at least turned up the corners of his mouth. It was really a lovely story, filled with beautiful memories and funny moments, just like all the other tales they had told over the meal. Each depicting a loving family with protective parents who wanted to do the best for their children. They didn’t have a huge amount of money, but it was certainly enough to provide what their son and daughter needed, and a little of what they wanted.

Callum just wanted to lock the door to this house, keep Vicky and Chris inside it and not ever let them leave this world. He couldn’t bare to think of these pure and perfect things ground down or damaged by life. He hated the thought that this darkness may flutter above them one day, reach out its spindly sharp hand and grab them, mark them and stain them from what they used to be. If he could just lock them away here in this perfect palace so they never had to look up into that horror’s eyes. That’s what he wanted for them. He just didn’t know what side of the door he wanted to be on.

They were both staring at him expectantly, happiness bubbling in their eyes, and looking for his response to the story. He didn’t have one. There weren’t any happy times for him, with mum and dad walking him down the promenade, hand in hand, as he swung joyfully between them. That was someone else’s life. That was someone else’s story. He only had one reaction to their memory. “You don’t like ice cream?”

They both paused for a second, looking at him like he was an alien, like his comment wasn’t valid enough. They were right. He didn’t know how to create those memories, or add to them. The beat was for only a second though, as they then both broke into a little laugh and a splattering of comments that he didn’t understand.

His face felt hot, and he couldn’t reach the itch on his ankle as Chris put his hand back on his thigh again. Then Vicky covered his wrist with her hand, and it felt comfortable, he felt like he was falling into a slumber of imaging this was all real, with hands of comfort not pain, of smiling family photographs and lace tablecloths. He felt himself fall under the spell, and could only nod when Vicky offered to make a pot of tea.

Then the tablecloth caught his eye again. This perfectly pressed, pure white object that hung with dignity and clarity, that now had a stain on it. He had done that. If he wasn’t here, it would have remained that way. He shouldn’t be here.

“I’m just going to pop to the loo,” Callum said, standing up abruptly, Chris’ hand falling off his leg.

“It’s just straight up the stairs, second on the right,” Chris replied, and he stayed sitting, though there was a slight frown in his forehead.

Callum followed the path up, followed the stairs, where more pictures ladened the walls, and he felt his socks sink even further into the deep soft carpet. He felt himself fall further and further into this safe house, drifting away under its sweet song. He clawed at the banister, his breath coming out in fits now as he tried to keep it out, tried to remember reality.

He eventually found the door to the bathroom, pulling down the handle and swinging it open. He shut it with a start, and locked the door, flinging himself down onto his bottom and curling up, his head lowered to his chest.

After a few breaths, he reached up and undid a button on his blue shirt, letting the cool air float in. He leaned up and turned the taps of the sink on, just needing to hear the sound of the water rushing, to fill his ears with reality and something from his other world, as he melted into the floor. The bathroom was all perfectly coordinated, the cream bathmat, soft and fluffy while the ivory walls were calming, pulling him in and numbing his body.

Callum folded his arms over his knees, and heard a crackle from his shirt, He moved his arms slightly as he looked down and frowned. There was still a rustle there. Patting it down, he felt something in the pocket. He reached in and pulled out a torn and rumpled piece of yellow paper. He opened it up.

_I knew you’d choose this shirt! Follow your heart! J x_

He let out a chuckle and shook his head, folding the piece of paper up and reaching for his jean’s pocket. He took out his wallet and tucked it in safely. Clutching at the crease in the shirt, he hung on, suddenly feeling very alone. He didn’t belong here.

It hit him then, how far from home he had drifted. How far from familiarity he had wandered from without even noticing. His life used to be so predictable, so starkly grey, and he could never wait to get away to it. Now he was here, in this place of comfort and smiling faces, and he just didn’t fit. It just wasn’t him, no matter how much it tried to pull him in.

The chokes from his chest came out, the sound blending with the whoosh of the water. He stared sobbing at the loss of something he never even had. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t belong here.

There was a knock at the door, a quick ratatat, that got him shuffling to his feet, and quickly grabbing some toilet paper to rub at his eyes. It was the soft quilted kind that was feathery light against the skin of his cheeks.

“Callum?” the voice called, the calming voice trying to make him forget, trying to lull him into staying in this place, soft with lace and tissue and carpet your feet sunk into. “You alright?”

Quickly, he went to the sink and splashed some water on his face, waking him up. He needed to wake up. He needed to find something that was real.

Callum went and unlocked the door, finding an anxious looking Chris waiting outside. “I’m fine,” he said, and he pulled the man into a hug, tight and firm. Chris’ hand was rubbing his back softly. “I just needed a minute.”

They broke apart and Chris took him by the wrist, leading him down the hallway. “I stay here with Vick sometimes, in her spare bedroom,” he said, almost in a whisper like he was afraid Callum was going to bolt for the door. “We can go in there.”

The bedroom door seemed bigger than the bathroom one, though they were all mimics of each other, a row of perfectly identical brown rectangles. This door loomed towards him though, like a gate to a city, and the gold handle seemed to groan with a thunderous weight as Chris opened it up.

The hand pulled him inside and led him to a bed, pushing him to sit down. It was soft, the duvet light and white, fluffy as though filled with nothing but clouds. The mattress was supple, the grip seeming to mold to his form. Callum felt all his muscles start to relax, he felt himself slipping further into the bed, as the light shone with a pale glow through the net curtains. His mind was cursing him, ordering and demanding that he leave now. This was too comfortable though, to nice and lovely to go away from.

Chris leaned forward and kissed him, letting his lips linger, before moving in again with a little more firmness. Callum gave him a smile and licked his own lips when he pulled back. It was the sting of pickle that lingered there. No flavour or scent that could be determined, just the sterilising tone. It tasted of nothing. He felt nothing. His expression didn’t seem to fool Chris, who looked at him questioningly. “H, what’s wrong?”

Callum just shook his head. He couldn’t give in. This was his choice, to be here with Chris. This is what he needed to do. “Nothing,” he replied, and he couldn’t stop the tear from falling, he couldn’t hide it. “It was a really lovely lunch.”

There was a flicker in Chris’ face, and those safe and warm eyes became hardened for a second, they were interrogatory and questioning. “Is it that guy from the pub?” he asked, and he sat back from Callum a little, let the space start to open up. “The angry one with the mouth on him? I saw how you were looking at each other.”

Shaking his head again, he opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t. Callum saw the look on Chris’ face and knew that he knew. He couldn’t hide it any longer. It was bleeding out of him from trying. “I should go,” he said, standing up and wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Can you thank Vicky for me?”

Chris stood up after him, holding out a requesting hand. It wanted him to stay. It wanted to keep him here in this safe perfect world. “Don’t go! We can sort this out!”

Callum muttered an apology and then turned, quickly opening the door and flinging himself out. He pumped his legs down the stairs until he reached the bottom, staggering on one foot as he put on each shoe. It wasn’t until he opened the front door and marched down the gravel path that he could breath, and some of the tension slipped out. The air scuttled around him whimsically and whispered calming twitters to his body.

Walking down the street to the bus stop, he tried not to think about the hurt he would have just caused Chris. It would be better in the long run. It would be safer for his friend to stay wrapped in the perfect house, in the perfect world with Vicky, and not let anything burn too deep. Nothing that would leave a scar.

Even the rest of their street was perfect. It didn’t have mansions and jaguars parked outside, but comfortable two-up two-down terraces, with a modern hatchback planted outside every door. All the cars, one after one were of the same vein. All except the green Ford Escort parked on the corner.

Callum wiped his face with his sleeve again, and slowly approached the car. It could just be a coincidence. It might be anyone in there, but he knew it wasn’t. He knew.

“Well I’ve picked up worse things on street corners,” Ben said, resting his arm out the window as Callum approached. “You going my way?”

“What are you doing here?” Callum said, and he couldn’t help but run a finger quickly down Ben’s arm to punctuate the question. “I thought you’d left. How’d you know I was here?”

Ben looked away, picking at the steering wheel with his finger. “Not yet,” he said. “Not for now, anyway. A little dolly bird whispered in my ear that you might pass through this way. You gonna get in before I get nicked for kerb crawling?”

Callum smiled, and went round to the passenger door, getting in the car and breathing in deeply. He put on his belt and looked towards Ben. “Where we going then?”

“Anywhere you want,” he said. “Your choice.”

It only took a moment for him to answer. “Leigh-on-Sea,” he replied. “That’s where I want to go.”

Ben started the engine which shuddered and spluttered to life. “Leigh-on-Sea? Anywhere in the world and you want to go there?” he asked, with a shake of his head. “Right, well fair enough. Let’s hope she can get us there alright.”

They drove in silence for most of the journey, the sounds of the other motorists zooming by and the slight chirp of the birds filling the air, when the Escort wasn’t coughing and clicking into action. Around half an hour in, Callum raised a hand and just threaded it through Ben’s hair, stroking it for a while before leaning over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. It was something they could do, the two of them, have these quiet moments where nothing was said. Where nothing needed to be said.

When they arrived at their destination, Ben easily found a spot to park. He unclicked his belt and then looked over to Callum expectantly. “I’m following your lead,” he said. “Are we just going to tour a few old people’s homes, or we really going to push the boat out and head to the bingo to scam a few biddies.”

Giving a tut, Callum undid his belt, and opened the door. “No!” he replied as they got out the car. “I thought we’d walk along the seafront. It’s beautiful today.”

It was glorious, as the sun sparkled and rained down diamonds onto the gentle lapping water. They fluttered and coated the leagues of pebbles littered on the surface, a multitude of stones of every tone and colour. At some point, Callum felt Ben’s hand brush his, and their fingers joined automatically as they strolled silently along the path. Together.

It started to look familiar now, as the vivid memory in his head came rushing back, and pieces slotted into place. There were little differences, changes in time, but the backdrop was all the same. The happiness and wholeness of that memory was the same.

The Arcade was in the same place, the signs a little more weathered, and more of the paint chipping off the outside, but it was that same one he came to all those years ago. There was even the same pop-up fairground outside that was placed just a few metres down the road.

“You brought me all this way to go into an arcade?” Ben asked, his eyebrows raised. “You know we could have got to one in London in about ten minutes.”

“I wanted to come to this one,” Callum replied, squeezing Ben’s hand in consolation. It was strange really, how he could stand in this place, holding hands with a man and it not bother him. It wasn’t festering in his head, gnawing away at his insides that this was wrong. That other people would think this was wrong. He didn’t care. Not here. It didn’t matter. Not here. It felt right. “My choice, remember?”

“And your wish is my command!” Ben replied with a grin. “I would have had something better in mind if you’d told me we’d be filling a few slots, but don’t matter. Come on, then!”

Callum pulled Ben’s hand, and he was pleased to see contentment forming on the man’s face. When they got inside, it was like he had never left; the harsh neon still blinked out at them in the faded darkness, and the rattle and clink of the coins buzzed through his mind. It brought back that day, where he could have anything he wanted. It brought back that day when he could be anyone he wanted. It brought back his Grandad.

Reaching inside his pocket, he pulled out his wallet and then rooted around in his jeans, unimpressed when he only fished out a couple of twenty pence coins. “I ain’t got any change,” he said with a sigh, kicking himself for not thinking this through properly.

Ben just shrugged, and pointed over to the corner. “You can get change at the booth, can’t you?”

“I ain’t got any notes either,” he explained a little sheepishly. It would take them ages to find a cash machine now.

Ben tapped the wallet that was still in his hand. “You’ve got a fifty pound note in there,” he replied. “Unless you spent it of course.”

Callum furrowed his eyebrows, though he knew Ben was right. It was in there, and he never really questioned it at the time, his mind too distracted. “How do you know I got a bullseye in there?”

“I put it in there, didn’t I?” he replied leaning back on one of the machines. “The night you left your jacket at the pub.”

There was a jolt of annoyance that leapt through Callum. It always did when he thought of that evening. “That time I walked into the gents and saw you and Alan?” he muttered moodily, folding his arms. “That night you mean?”

“Yes, that one,” Ben replied with a sigh. “Look, you’ve got to stop getting jealous about that. Nothing has or ever will happen between me and that twerp. It was a stupid, drunken attempt at a blow job. I didn’t even come; he couldn’t keep me hard! I got myself off later at home, truth be told. Thinking about you, if you must know!”

“Sshhh,” Callum hissed, getting hold of Ben’s arm and pulling him into a darkened corner behind one of the machines. “I don’t want to know!”

“You asked!” Ben replied, the incredulity clear in his tone.” I think I came off worse than anyone that evening. I came along to pull you, and then you and Dolly Bird started to have a go!”

Callum rolled his eyes. “You weren’t there to pull me.”

“I’ve been trying to pull you since the first moment I saw you,” he said softly, giving little quirk of his lips.

Reaching out, Callum let his fingers rub over Ben’s wrist. “That day you came in and introduced yourself?” he replied, and he couldn’t help but smile thinking about that day.

“Not then. I saw you before. You were sitting in the booth with your family,” Ben explained, and he got closer. “You looked at me, do you remember?”

Callum nodded. How could he forget? “You were the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen,” he muttered, barely finishing his sentence before Ben sprung at him, clinging to his shirt and forcing their lips together. After a minute, Callum pushed him back a little. “Wait, why did you put fifty quid in my wallet?”

“I always pay my debts, don’t I?” he replied, moving his hands down and groping Callum’s bum. “You’ve never charged me once for a drink.”

Running his fingers through Ben’s hair, he shook his head. “Yes, I have!” he replied, as Ben started to nip at his neck. “I’m a barman. I know how to serve a drink!”

“No, you ain’t!” he replied, with a muffled laugh. “Even when you was angry and chucking bags of crisps at me, you still never once charged me.”

Callum opened his mouth to disagree, when he stopped. Ben was right. Thinking back, he’d been so distracted, so ensorcelled and flustered, that he’d never once asked him to pay for a drink. “So you paid me anyway?”

“Well, I reckon you were trying to pull me before you even knew that you were,” Ben replied, and he kneaded Callum’s arse, pulling their bodies closer. “God, I want you to do me right here.”

“If you could both wait a little while, I’d be grateful,” a voice over their shoulders said. Both Callum and Ben pulled apart and then peered around to the front of the machine. Sat at a stool was a tiny woman, the wrinkles of her face pooling like a mole’s, as her withered hands reached up to deposit change into the slots. “I’ve only got to nudge a few bananas and then I’m onto a winner. So if you could save your naughty business until then. I don’t want anything knocking into this beauty.”

Callum waved a hand of apology, pulling Ben away as he snickered. “Let’s just get some change, shall we?” he said, pulling the fifty pound note out of his wallet. The little yellow piece of paper slipped out with it, drifting under a machine when the breeze caught it.

The attendant wouldn’t take the fifty pound note, saying she was worried about counterfeiting. If anything, she was even more determined once Ben had waved it under her nose and given a few choice words. Instead, he removed a twenty from his own pocket, which the employee changed with a glare.

Callum pulled Ben towards the grabber machine first. “We’ve got to win something for Judy,” he said, feeding some money into the slot. “What shall we aim for?”

“Unless they’ve got a duel pack of fishnets and dildos in there, I’m not sure she’ll be interested,” Ben said, smiling as he dodged Callum’s shove.

In the end, it took them a while but eventually Ben managed to cling on to the paw of a cuddly grey dog, depositing it neatly into the basket. “Little yappie thing,” he said, bringing it out and handing it to Callum. “It’ll probably quite suit her.”

“We’ll have to all come down here one day,” he said, after they had played on a few more machines, though he knew that Ben had said he was still leaving at some point. He put that out of his head though, shoved it to the back of his mind. “Judy can bring her little niece with her maybe. It’ll be nice to have a kid about.”

“I’ve got a daughter,” Ben said, and it was so sudden and out the blue, that Callum almost asked him to repeat it. “I don’t see her no more. She’s up in Newcastle with her mum.”

“Why don’t you see her?” he asked. There were other questions there, but they didn’t matter.

“I’m no good for her,” he replied. “I’d be no good for her. I can’t exactly go waltzing back into her life. What would she think?”

Callum took a hold of his hand and they began to walk out the arcade, and back into the lightened air. It was starting to get a little darker, late afternoon fading into early evening. “I think she would just be happy to have you in her life,” he said, as they walked along towards the fair. “Anyone would be happy to have you in their life.”

Ben gave a snort of disbelief, and then nodded to a bench in front of one of the rides. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, before disappearing just out of view.

It wasn’t as good without him here. It didn’t feel the same, and he just let his eyes focus on the rolling ride in front of him, and the squeals of delight of its passengers. Ben returned a few minutes later, carrying chips, cans of coke and candy floss which he deposited on the bench next to Callum. “Slap up three course meal, that is!” he said with a smile, opening his can and chugging some down. “Only the best for you!”

They both picked at the chips, the salt, vinegar and ketchup making each mouthful moorish in its hard hit of savoury. They were so hot that they stung his mouth deliciously, and steam came out with his breath. They were crumbly and fluffy, but still had a raw bite in the middle. He washed them down with the coke, the sugar glazing his teeth and rushing to his veins.

“I think they should do an alcohol version of this,” Ben said, tearing into his candy floss and taking a bite. “It would give it a good kick.”

Callum let his own settle on his tongue, popping and melting away into nothingness. “I think they do, probably proper expensive though,” he said, twirling his tongue around a stray strand. “One of those fancy artisan places.”

“What can be so hard?” Ben replied. “Sugar, booze, give it a stir and you’re done!”

Callum gave a laugh, as a song started to ring out from the fair ride in front of them. It was the same song he heard all those years ago when he came here with his Grandad. The thumping beat entered his body, and took him back, right back and he was that happy little boy out for a day trip, forgetting his miserable life at home, and just spending hours with the one person he loved most in the world. The one person who really knew and understood him.

“I love this song,” Callum said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, letting it wash into him, letting the vocals spin into his head. It was over before it felt like it had begun though, and some modern track he didn’t like had started booming out the speakers.

His face must have fallen, because a second later Ben was waving trying to get the attention of the attendant. “Mate! Oi!” he called out. “Put that song on again, will you? The one about the rain and the flowers!”

“Fuck off!” the man replied, leaning on his elbow, clearly bored with having to press a button all day. “Do I look like fucking Radio One?”

“Don’t be a cunt about it! Just put the sodding song back on!” Ben shouted back, as Callum grasped at his arm to stop him, while trying to smile politely to passers by. “It ain’t a challenge to spin a couple of switches is it?”

The man just flipped Ben off and went back to leaning on the side. Callum knew that wouldn’t be the end of it though, and soon enough Ben jumped up from the bench and pulled himself up on the railings to talk to the man. He must have said something, and money probably exchanged hands because as soon as Ben jumped down and made his way back towards Callum, the song started to play again.

“He just needed some gentle persuasion,” Ben said, sitting back down. He scootched up right next to Callum, cuddling into his side and resting his head on his shoulder. “Told him I right proper fancy the pants off you and I’m on a promise if you get to hear your song.”

They sat there, just letting the music play. He wanted to stay here, just like this, forever. He wanted the waves to freeze, the sun to stay half hidden over the horizon and the moon to be just peaking round the corner. Callum wanted everything to stop, and to never go back, and to never go forwards.

The song had to end though, and they had to go back. “See? Told you I’d give you anything you’d wish for!” Ben said leaning back a little to gaze up at Callum. “That’s two, you got a third wish yet?”

Stay. That was what he wanted. For Ben to stay with him always and never leave his side. “Come home with me,” he said instead, requesting something he knew he could get. “Everyone else is away. It would just be us. Stay tonight.”

Ben gave a nod, and it was all he needed. The sun had moved on and dark clouds had started to gather ahead, already leaking out droplets of water on their head. “Come on then!” he said, taking Callum by the hand as they started to dash back to the car before it became heavier. “Better get back before the old tin can turns into a pumpkin!”

“That’s the wrong fairy tale!” Callum shouted out. It was the wrong story. That one had a happy ending. Something lurking inside told him that their one wouldn’t.

It was like a flick was switched when they got through the door to his flat, and shut it behind them. They had walked separately and without a word since they parked the car back in Canning Town. Now though, Ben’s finger traced gently up and down the lower part of Callum’s shirt, the nail making short scratching noises as it dragged down slowly to his jeans. He looped his finger in, and pulled. Callum felt his feet move as though they were being enchanted by just that little force.

Leaning down, he placed his lips gently to Ben’s mouth. Testing almost, as if he were afraid that he’d made everything up in his head, and he’d be refused. They were met with gentle pressure back, the simple flutter of delicacy and softness. The slightest of touches. The briefest of kisses. And Callum felt it all, every inch and cell and nerve and thought in his body just begged for more, was swayed into it and couldn’t do without it.

There was no hesitancy, and no questions in Callum’s mind as he grabbed Ben back to him, keeping his face in his hands and kissing him endlessly. He walked him backwards, not removing his lips as they sucked and dragged along Ben’s mouth. He could still taste the remnants of their trip, sweet sugar and tangy salt and he let his tongue move in, the addiction turning to craving now, as he heard Ben’s legs hit the sofa and felt him tumble away.

Ben fumbled his arms behind him as his body fell down onto the couch. Callum didn’t give him any respite, as he crawled over him, his foot bashing into the coffee table with a clatter. His legs hung off the end as he pressed Ben into the cushions, wanting to just melt into him.

Callum went back to Ben’s mouth, kissing him feverently, and he could hear the breath escape from their noses, their lips being claimed and caught. He took a second to feel the sensation all over his body, Ben solid and wriggling beneath him, clambering to hook his legs behind Callum and scratching his nails down his back, before rubbing with the pads of his fingers and then back to harshly scraping and grabbing again.

Callum started to thrust his hips. He couldn’t help it. It was too tempting, and he wasn’t even sure which parts of him and Ben were pressing against each other, but he knew it was too good to just stay still. He needed this.

“Fuck,” Ben moaned out, and it didn’t help Callum’s control as he moved his lips back to his neck and threaded fingers through his hair. “No, fuck. Hold on a second, there’s something digging in my back.”

Callum managed to lean back up, holding himself up and supporting his weight on his arms, so Ben had room to shuffle his hand behind him. He knew he must look a complete mess, his hair was falling over his forehead and he was breathing heavily. A few beads of sweat had begun to form on his body and he knew his face wash flushed. Callum didn’t care though. It didn’t matter.

With a slight rustle, Ben brought round a striped paper bag, a little crushed and torn. He was holding it up, and Callum put his feet back on the ground quickly and tried to grab it. “Oh God! Give it here!”

Ben pulled back the hand that was holding the bag quickly, pushing himself up with his other arm and swinging his legs off the sofa, while Callum could only reach out and grab empty air. “What is it?” Ben asked with a smirk. “What don’t you want me to see?”

“It’s just a bag of Pick and Mix,” Callum replied, and his cheeks were burning now as he got up from the sofa and tried to snatch the bag away. Ben dodged though, moving round the lounge with it still clutched in his hand.

Ben cocked his head and widened his eyes. “I can tell when you’re lying, Callum!” he replied, and he let out a squeal when Callum caught him around the waist, and started tickling him. “Alright! Alright! Stop. I’ll give it you back!”

Reaching his hand out, Ben held the bag in front of Callum. He was just about to take it, when it whirred out of sight as Ben hopped up on the chair and then jumped up on the couch making a thump with his boots. Callum tried to follow him, but he was moving too fast and eventually Ben had time to look in the bag.

His eyebrows raised almost immediately, and his jaw dropped slightly. He looked back at Callum questioningly. “Now, what kind of kinky Woolworths did you go to when growing up? Because I certainly don’t remember being able to shovel in a handful of fizzy coke bottles and six condoms at the same time!” he said with a laugh, stepping off the sofa as Callum screwed up his face, hoping the bag would just disappear. “Let me guess, Dolly?”

Callum nodded and sat down on the sofa with a sigh. He forgot completely about the bag when he left the house earlier. Now, he’d gone and ruined the evening. He put his face in his hands, before dropping them to his knees and leaning his head forward.

He felt Ben drop down on to the sofa next to him and swipe something over his head. Looking down he could see some elastic string that had little pastel sweets threaded on to it, swinging from his neck. There was a tickle by his ear and he felt Ben’s nose nuzzle against the skin there, before he felt his lips on his neck. He heard a crunch, and then looked over to see Ben chewing smugly. He put one hand on Callum’s thigh as he leaned in again, first kissing his neck and running his tongue down his stubble before going back to suck by his collar bone. A crunch sounding again before he pulled back and looked at Callum smugly.

“Do you know what? We might be on to something here!” he said, before swinging his legs over and straddling Callum’s lap. He couldn’t help it, he brought his hands up and cupped Ben’s arse, squeezing as he looked at Ben’s face just a few inches from his. “An adult pick and mix store! You’re getting your foreplay on and your sugar rush at the same time! We’ve got the boozy candy floss idea too; that can go in a section.”

Callum leaned forward and pecked him on the lips, mesmerised by how animated he was, how bright and magical, when all he was doing was talking. He continued to stroke the back of Ben’s jeans. “Right little entrepreneur, aren’t you!” he said, leaning back. “I’m not sure I can see it take off down Canning Town High Street!”

“Well not there, obviously! You lot have only just got over the shock of Lidl’s,” he remarked, reaching into the bag and pulling out another piece of confectionery. “What could we call it? Dick and Mix? Pick and Nips? Here have this.”

Ben passed Callum over a smaller version of the candy necklace he was wearing. He pulled at the elastic a little, seeing if it would fit over his hand. “This ain’t going to fit around my wrist!” he said handing back the bracelet.

There was a twinkle in Ben’s gaze, as he leaned forward, keeping his eyes open as he kissed Callum on the lips. “I weren’t suggesting you put it around your arm,” he replied, and then moved back to his neck, and Callum pulled him closer.

“Well, I ain't putting it there!” he replied with a chuckle, as he fluttered his eyelids back when Ben continued nipping and sucking on his neck.

Heavy eyes looked back at him. “Don’t make out it’s all on me,” he muttered sensually, and he leaned closer, pressing the foreheads together. “I’m not the one who turned up to the party with a bag of johnnys, six ounce of lube and cock candy. Oh, possible business name!”

“I can’t believe you ain’t suggested ‘Willy Wonkas’,” Callum said, smiling despite himself.

Ben sat up a little at the suggestion, his eyes widening. “And that is the exact reason why I fell for you,” he said beaming, though Callum could sense there was more seriousness there than the tone would suggest, more truth and more meaning. Ben lowered his eyes, and then shook the bag a little, just by the corner. “Do you want to?”

The words were said in barely a whisper, and with lowered eyes, but Callum knew what he was asking. The room had turned quiet now, even the too loud television sets from across the estate, and the drunken arguments were distant and hollow.

He brushed his hand down Ben’s cheek, and gave a nod. It was enough, as Ben grinned back at him and climbed off his lap. “Come on then,” he said, holding his hand out. Callum linked their fingers together, and clambered up as Ben pulled. To his surprise, Ben led him to the kitchen, looking back at Callum’s confused face.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna have you on the lino!” he said, opening the fridge up. “I’m just getting provisions!”

Callum looked at their hands still linked together as Ben hooked his fingers in the remnants of a six pack of larger, and shut the door. He didn’t want to let go, he didn’t want to break that connection. It was like a link, a force of magnets and he could feel it radiate between them. He could just stay here all evening holding his hand, and it would be everything.

Ben led them back through the lounge, and nodded to the stripped bag on the sofa, signalling for Callum to pick it up and bring it with him. He did so, with a blush of his cheeks, as he removed the necklace and placed it inside. This was strange for him, to know what they were going to be doing, but he was excited as well, those butterflies of exhilaration and moths of anxiety were each flapping and bouncing around his body.

When they got in the room, Ben kicked off his boots, and placed the beer down on the table. He unhooked a can, and pulled the ring with a click, before passing it to Callum. He took it with a nod, and then downed a quick gulp as he moved to his record player to put some music on. He didn’t want anything slow, he needed something that would match his heart, keep time to the thumping pulse that banged through his body, that would match the feeling that coursed through his soul already. He took another long mouthful from his can, as he could hear Ben open his and gulp three times in quick succession.

Placing the needle carefully on, he felt hands rest on his hips, and the back of his body covered with solid warmth. The fingers were gently squeezing and rubbing, and he then felt tickling kisses at the back of his neck. Callum just breathed into them, the music’s rhythm pulsing out into the room and surrounding them, encasing them in the moment.

“Come on,” Ben whispered behind his ear, moving his fingers to Callum’s hand again and threading them through in the perfect fit. “Come over here.”

They moved over to the bed, this small single, that Callum had for most of his life. He never remembered another one, and this probably wasn’t from new when he started to own it. The mattress’ springs had probably rusted and set over time, the once fluffy filling, crunched into nothing around them. The base was an old one, and sturdily made, but the wood was growing tired now after all these years.

Callum kicked off his trainers, as he sat down on the bed, and Ben fell to his knees in front of him hooking an arm around one of his thighs. He didn’t move, just lay his cheek on Callum’s leg and closed his eyes for a moment, letting fingers be threaded gently through his hair reverentially.

When Ben lifted his head up, there a gleam and a determination in his eye, and he got high on his knees and brought Callum down for a long kiss, moving his hand down towards his belt. Ben gave a quick few rubs before deftly unhooking the item and undoing the jeans. As he leaned out of the kiss, he gave Callum a tap on the knee to get him to stand up enough to take off his trousers. He did so quickly, tossing them aside and then sitting back down again.

There were those wasps of fear now, that also crept into his body, as he realised his shirt was now conspicuous, almost ridiculous in the fact it was still covering his upper torso. He didn’t need to tell Ben how he felt, he didn’t have to point it out or let him know that he was embarrassed and ashamed by the marks on the body. The ones that showed his mistakes.

Ben leant up and started to kiss him again, moaning and licking into lips, as the other hand gently stroked his fingers down the front of his boxers. It was more than distracting, it was intoxicating and he only felt a slight movement as Ben started to undo the buttons of his shirt with his remaining hand.

Callum pushed back a little out of the kiss, so he could watch Ben’s hands finish unhooking the little buttons. Once it had been done, Ben dropped his hands to Callum’s thighs and lifted his head, littering kisses all the way down his chest to his stomach. Callum squirmed and let out a laugh when Ben dipped his tongue into his belly button. “That’s better,” he said, matching Callum’s smile.

It sent those wasps away, just that little moment of matching joy. Without waiting another second, Callum slipped his shirt down his arms, and threw it off onto the carpet. He couldn’t look though, and he jutted his head over to the side so he was focusing on the wallpaper. The once coloured pattern that had faded over time. He counted the repeated shapes, as he felt Ben continue to rub and kiss down his chest until he reached his scar.

Callum wondered if he thought it horrific, wondered if he had changed his mind. He remembered that day at football, where Ben had seen him come out the shower, had seen him before he was marked for his sins. He must look so unappealing in comparison. Perhaps if he put his shirt back on it would help, and stop Ben from going away.

He felt a hand on his chin, forcing his head back. “Eyes,” Ben said simply, making Callum look down at him. He ran feather light fingers over the scar, looking up to see if Callum was hurt. It didn’t, not in that sort of way, and the hatred and the guilt seemed to start to fade when Ben kissed all around it, never once not looking up at Callum’s gaze. Never once not showing him the calming and fixing spring waters swirling in his eyes.

There was almost a flick switched then, almost a moment when he realised that Ben didn’t care about his scar, that this grating imperfection was just another part of Callum and he’d treat it the same way. He grabbed and clawed at Ben’s shirt pulling him up until he was sitting on the bed, forcing their lips together for a kiss, needing to show him how much it meant. Wanting him to know how grateful he was to be seen.

He could hear the rattle as Ben started to undo his own belt and then pulled off his jeans, throwing them off the bed. He pushed back with a gasp, his hair messed and his lips blossomed as he ripped his shirt over his head and hurled it away. Before Ben got the chance to move again, Callum slinked to the floor. He felt brave now, he felt ravenous with this desire and he wanted to show it. He wanted to show Ben how much it meant to him.

Callum kissed along Ben’s thigh, the fine hair there tickling his nose. Just as he got to the hem of the boxers, he leaned back and moved over to the other leg, starting at the knee and making his way back down. Ben’s hands never stopped, continually rubbing at Callum’s cheeks, or playing with his hair, or stroking the back of his neck. Finally, Callum leaned back a little, hooking his fingers into Ben’s waistband and pulling down.

He threw them towards the pile of strewn clothes, though they were all littered around the floor. He lay his cheek gently on Ben’s thigh, and he just watched as his cock lay against his stomach. He started to raise a nervous hand, but a little fear creeped back in. He didn’t want to get this wrong. “Just do what you enjoy,” Ben said, almost reading Callum’s mind. “Show me what you like.” He linked their fingers together, as if that connection could help. It did.

Callum tried not to second guess it. He shuffled closer between Ben’s legs and licked a long line right from the base to the head of his dick. Ben fell backwards on the bed, his head hitting the mattress with a thump and a chuckle, and he let out a moan as Callum fisted his hand around him, stroking him in a slow rhythm as he moved his mouth lower and swirled his tongue around his balls. “God! I knew you were sinful,” Ben choked out, sitting back up on his elbows, as Callum now licked back up and took the whole head in his mouth, sucking with eagerness. Everything else had fallen away; any nerves or fear flickered into the background, as the feeling of having Ben in his mouth, of knowing that he could make every nerve in the other man’s body shudder and all with just one movement, made him feel alive, made him feel all powerful and like he could grant anyone anything. “Fuck, I ain’t gonna last like this!”

Callum’s mouth was dragged up to meet Ben’s lips, and he sunk into the kiss, which was all tongues and missed lips and breaths exchanged. Their hands were all over and Callum put his fingers back to stroking Ben, pumping his fist faster now, wanting to make him fall apart just so he could put him back together again.

Ben scrabbled behind him, pushing Callum’s arm away. He crawled back on the bed, so he was sitting near the headboard, the striped paper bag in his hand. He reached in and brought out the lube, then stretched his fingers out, wiggling them for Callum to come and hold. He shuffled up the bed, the best he could, retaining his balance to keep all his body on the small mattress. He gripped the hand offered, as Ben took the pillow behind him and set it out under his legs.

Shaking the bottle of lube towards him, Ben looked at him gently and softly. “Do you know what to do?” he asked. There wasn’t any judgement in his voice, but Callum felt embarrassed anyway. It was hard to know if you were doing the right thing if you’d never done it before. He just gave a shrug and looked down, a gulp forming in his throat and he unlinked their fingers, and clasped both his hands together in his lap.

They were quickly pulled apart again, as Ben snatched his hand back and fastened their fingers together tightly. “We don’t have to do this,” he said, giving Callum a little kiss to the cheek. “You can just go back to sucking me off; I weren’t minding. Ain’t as much fun for you though.”

Callum looked into Ben’s eyes, and they glistened with the sparkle of a tropical sea, warm and comforting. “I want to do this,” he said, and he couldn’t help but return Ben’s smile.

“Right then,” Ben said, leaning over and taking a long swig of his larger, before passing it over to Callum. He sat his hips up on the pillow and leaned back, opening up the bottle of lube. “Come on! Get your cock out, I need a good visual if I’m doing this myself.”

Callum gave a laugh, took a long sip of the can before placing it on the floor. He slipped his boxers off and kneeled at the foot of the bed, just by Ben’s legs. He watched as Ben dropped some of the clear liquid on to his hand and then reached down between his legs, slipping in a finger slowly. “Callum, come on,” he said, his voice a little needy now as he tapped his foot against the still body at the end of the bed.

Callum took the hint and started to stroke his cock, trying to match the rhythm of Ben’s fingers that seemed to move to the music that was still thumping in the background. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the movement of Ben’s hand, the image searing and branding his brain and it shooting out over his body, causing him to moan out and lick his lips.

“Eyes,” Ben called out, his voice hash and throat, and as Callum moved his gaze up he could see Ben’s mouth open and eyelids heavy. “Don’t shoot too soon, solider. I’m not doing this so you can blow your load over your own hand. Jesus, this lube is shit! Did Dolly Bird nick this crap from Poundland?”

Callum’s eyes moved back down to where Ben’s fingers were now slipping in and out quickly now, picking up speed and pace, and Callum could see his cock brushing against his arm, leaving a droplet there. He wanted to lean forward and lick it up, and the thought just made him moan louder. He slowed down his fist, trying to gain some control back, before letting go. When Ben slid his fingers out completely with a groan, his dick twitched impatiently.

Ben reached across to the little striped paper bag, wiping his fingers on the duvet with a grimace, and threw a condom packet Callum’s way. With trembling fingers, he opened the packet up. It was becoming a reality now, and watching Ben like that and his desire belting its way around his body in cheers and crackles and sparks, made all his senses feel blissed. He cursed when he took the condom out and then proceeded to drop it, his brain too filled with images and sounds to quickly transfer instructions to his hands.

“It’s alright,” Ben said, as he scooted up next to Callum. He just seemed to know what he needed of him, he just seemed to get what this felt like, and the intensity and anticipation. “Let me do it.”

Ben picked up the condom with one hand, as he fisted Callum and gave him a few strokes with the other. He leaned in and gave him a kiss, their lips barely meeting, but it was messy with tongue slipped in before he claimed at his mouth. He sucked on Callum’s lip as he pulled back, before resting their foreheads together. “It’ll be good, I swear,” he said as he rolled on the condom, and then squeezed some more lube on his hand, rubbing it down his length. “I promise you, this is going to feel so good.”

Callum nodded and he crawled up the bed, following Ben who placed his hips back on the pillow and opening his legs up to let him settle in the middle. He rubbed the back of Ben’s thighs, moving his head down to give a kiss against one, before moving his mouth up and just gently rounding his lips around Ben’s dick swirling his tongue for a few seconds before sitting back.

He shuffled closer, taking his cock and lining it up, remembering the image of Ben’s hand, and he let out some short sharp breathes as his lungs were constricting at the pure tension being held in his frame. He just stilled for a second, almost like his body didn’t know how to move by itself, it needed his mind to sober up from its heady dream and give the order.

It was pure primal urge that took over eventually, and he couldn’t help but push his dick in a little, just the tip, and the tightness and encasement shattered any of the other feelings in his body, or anything he had ever felt. “Oh Christ,” he said, as his body was shouting and urging him to thrust with all his force. He knew he had to hold back a little though, and he felt the droplets of sweat start to form over his body, the stillness a stark contrast against the sensation of the perspiration of effort building. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He heard a small chuckle from further up the bed, and he could feel it vibrate against his cock. “You can move a little more,” Ben said, bending his legs back a little further to give the him the hint. “Neither of us are going to break.”

Callum gave him a quick stroke on his belly, before slipping a little further in, and he’d never felt less broken in his life. It was completing and fixing and he wanted to stay in this feeling forever. His body took over with its own impatience though, and pulled back a little before thrusting back in, and it repeated the action a second time as Ben’s sharp intake of breath and throaty moan that followed.

The third time he pulled back with a little bit much force and slipped out completely. “God, sorry,” he said, holding his cock and lining it back up, sliding back in to Ben quicker this time and pushing in a little deeper, a soft groan falling from his lips with every movement.

He leaned forward slightly, needing to have more contact with Ben, needing his lips on his again, His balance was precarious though, and he pulled back again, slipping out, feeling the cool air hit his cock. He hated it, he felt empty, and wanted that same heavy solid encasement back. “Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he said, wiping the sweat away from his forehead, that was already dripping around his cheeks.

“Stop apologising,” Ben said, and Callum could see the dampness at his temples, see the blackness of his eyes. He leaned forward and captured his mouth, needing them to be connected somehow, in some way and he groaned and nipped into it, his swollen cock finding some friction against Ben’s leg and rocking against it. “We’ll blame the poxy lube. Right, come here.”

Ben wriggled down slightly, plumping and folding the pillow underneath him a little so his hips were higher in the air. He rolled his legs back further, pulling Callum down so their bodies were closer. “Just don’t hold back,” he said brushing his hand, over his body. “Enjoy yourself, yeah?”

Callum lined himself up again, and this time pushed all the way in, deep and slow, and he pulled back slowly when he saw Ben’s eyes flutter as he was biting his lip and letting out another moan. Callum balanced himself with one hand on Ben’s leg and the other on the headboard, and moved in quicker now, thrusting in deeper and longer, forming a rhythm, and breathing loudly and gritting his teeth as he grunted out his pleasure.

The music had stopped, he suddenly realised, as the deep groaning squeaks of the mattress springs echoed around the room, and the wobbly headboard banged loudly against the wall under the force of Callum’s grip. It was distinctively rhythmical, like a jazz percussion setting the pace, and Callum sped up the snap of his hips, gripping Ben's leg tightly as he just let go of everything and let himself have this.

It was startling, how the sounds brought their colour to the movement, and he was obsessed with chasing the changing tones around him. They swirled and shone, clashed and clattered and wrapped him in this tiny world, where it was just the two of them and the flat, the estate, the town and the earth all fell away. This was home.

He was moving Ben higher up the bed with every thrust now as he pounded into him, slowing down for a few strokes every now and then, before speeding back up to a ploughing speed. Ben put a hand lower, just loosely holding his hardened cock, just letting it rest in his palm, as his other fingers raised above his head and linked with Callum’s around the headboard. Their eyes met, and stayed that way, unable to move away from each other. Unable to leave

He knew he couldn’t hold on any longer, there wasn’t much of a clear rhythm in his movements now, his thrust becoming erratic with every gasp and grunt. It trickled over him, this wave that shook and shake and rode up and down his body as he spent into the condom. It was fire, building and building and the red hot flames licking him all over. His rebellious body was still thrusting into Ben, despite having reached its climax, it still wanted more until the waves lapped with a river chill and made everything feel a little too much, and he slowed down with a couple of excess rocks in and out.

Pulling out of Ben, he heard him gasp, and he hated the feeling of loss, though the sweet lulls that hit his muscles helped to soothe the sensation. He used all his remaining energy to crawl up the bed, as Ben grabbed the pillow under his body and tossed it aside. Callum removed the condom, shoving it over on the bedside table as he grasped for Ben’s body, pulling him close and near and stoking his hands over his face and in his hair, and kissing him softly.

Callum lowered his hand down and just wrapped his hand around Ben’s dick, stroking in a gentle rhythm. Ben leaned his forehead against Callum’s and a list of curses were let out with every movement as he started to rock into the tight fingers, and went back to gripping the headboard fiercely as it rocked loudly against the wall. Both of their breathing was harsh, and it sailed through Callum’s ears, breezing and brushing with a tingle and heat. It wasn’t long before he felt Ben’s hand grip against his bicep and he grunted and moaned, before releasing some soft breaths as he came.

Callum let his fingers fall as Ben knocked against his wrist to let him know it was too much now, and he swiped them on the sheet. They didn’t say anything for what could have been only a few seconds, or perhaps more. They littered each other with feather touches, and let their breaths start to retreat. Callum could still feel the sweat slicken his torso, and he ran a finger down Ben’s chest letting it slide quickly with the perspiration on his body.

“Told you it would be good,” Ben said, breaking the silence in the room. His voice was low, and almost crackled out. “You alright?”

Callum smiled back at him. “Amazing,” he said, and leaned forward to capture Ben’s lips in a quick kiss. “Nothing could ruin how I feel right now. How I feel about you. Ben-”

Perhaps if he hadn’t been so caught in this beautiful world, where it was just the two of them and nothing could get through, then he would have heard something before now. He would have been aware of the cyclone heading their way.

Instead, he only realised they were caught in the middle of the storm, when his bedroom door was hurled harshly against the wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @blueangel0909 on twitter
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> @moodyblueangel on tumblr
> 
> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	14. The Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Callum's world isn't the nicest, so please heed the warnings and tags!

There was a fleeting moment when Callum realised that Jonno hadn’t noticed. A short sweet second where he and Ben had built this world around them that was so secure, that they were shut out of any other lands. Invisible to the naked eye and impervious to any judgement. It was just the two of them, and nothing could happen to them.

It was only a fraction though. Only a sweet tick of the clock since his father kicked down the door, staggering in with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, not his first if the smell that lingered in after him was anything to go by.

“That’s it boy!” he slurred out, waving the bottle around. “I knew you had it in you to give it to her good. Bet you’re satisfied, darlin’!”

Then there was the next moment, where Jonno narrowed his eyes, the picture before him not quite matching the image that he was expecting in his head. The alcohol was clearly dulling his reflexes, and his own brain must have been telling him that his eyes were clearly wrong, and it wasn’t Ben that was there wrapped naked around his son in his bed.

It was those few moments that gave Callum the chance to move quickly, gave him the opportunity to think and act. It wasn’t the first time, he had spent most his childhood poised and ready whenever he heard the front door click, never knowing which version of his father would be walking through into the flat. It gave him time to hide until he could recognise the signs, the slam of the door, the shouts and the bangs. He would hide in his room and just hope that his dad passed out quickly enough before he remembered that his son existed

Callum kicked off the bed, grabbing his jeans and pulling them on, the movements behind him suggesting Ben was doing the same. That was it, all the time they had before his dad’s brain caught up with the scene playing out.

Most of the small pieces of glass missed them, went shattering into the carpet like it was raining diamonds once the bottle hit the wall. The whiskey sprayed against them like the mist from a waterfall, little droplets sticking and clinging to their skin. The bead on his face was different though and when he brushed his hand reflexively, the liquid was a stark red rather than a mellow amber he was expecting.

Ben had been struck by the stray glass as well, a paint brush of scarlet swiping up his arm as he pulled on his shirt. It was smeared, and it automatically sullied the paleness of his complexion.

The quietness struck him again, after the echoes of the smashed bottle had ricocheted around the walls. Those few muddled seconds where his brain was thinking far ahead and much faster than his body could move. It was like he could fast forward the action, see ahead at what could happen, see those paths that could lead to a disaster.

It wasn’t intellect or brainpower that helped Callum with this; it was years of experience. It was intuition and reflex born from fear. It came from growing up in Hell. You soon learned the sound of a demon’s footsteps.

That’s why the sudden silence and absence of his father was a stark warning and alarms bells rang immediately. “Ben,” he said quietly. “We’ve got to go.”

Ben was just starting to gather up his boots, his breath catching. “Yeah, two seconds.”

Callum could sense it like rumbling thunder. “No, now!” he replied and grabbed Ben’s wrist causing the boots to fall from his grasp, as his own feet crunched in the glass gravel when he pulled him to the bedroom door.

He was too late though, his body still sated and calmed from earlier, the fulfilment blocking out the pain and loneliness that usually kept him on his toes, kept him in this relentless turntable of despair and numbness that was his life.

There was just a hint in the corner of Callum’s eye, just a fleck of recognition that made him duck down, put his hand on the back of Ben’s head and force him lower to the floor as the thump roared harshly above them. There were little snow white flecks of paint that rained and fluttered down as the pipe hit the wall. Callum knew he only had seconds again, clinging on to anything thing he could of Ben, eventually managing to grip his shirt and pull him away, the pipe just breezing past his legs as it thundered into the wall for a second time. Callum didn’t think far enough ahead this time though. He pulled them both in the wrong direction.

It was a ridiculous error. He knew his rules; always head for the exit. Always get to the front door, get out in the open, don’t let yourself get boxed in and trapped in a corner. Don’t get trapped. Run away.

Now though, they were shuffling back in the living room, at least Callum was trying to. Ben seemed slightly perturbed at having a large steel pipe battered above his head, and was making a charge at Jonno. Callum didn’t let go of his shirt though and forcefully grabbed his arm to throw Ben behind him. It was like trying to control a ferocious terrier who was determined to chase an animal, and it had led them both into an unintentional trap.

“In my house!” Jonno slurred out. “You let that thing into my house!” He was swiping at the air, but Callum was still pushing Ben behind him, slowly making their way towards the kitchen. They ran out of space though, and this let Ben get ahead of him, making a charge at his father.

Callum reached out, darted next to him as his Dad was wielding the pipe back. He took his eyes off it for a second, just a moment, to try and cover Ben with his body. That’s when he felt it, the pressure thrashing through into his side, walloping like a thousand lashes of a whip all at once. It was just a moment of searing pain on impact, just one that quickly escalated and then dulled. Seconds later though, the after shock hit his lungs and his ribs seemed to turn into spiked claws, their spindling nails gripping and squeezing inside his chest. He dropped down, his body forgetting how to stand and hold his frame with the convulsions of pressure hitting into his torso.

There was a crack as he hit his elbow on the coffee table on the way down, and he winced and tried to breathe through it despite the shooting through his throat that made him gasp and feel certain that each inhale would be his last.

There was still fight in him though; you don’t survive hell without being able to battle the flames. That conviction forced his body to his feet just as Jonno swung the pipe again. Ben ducked his body back, leaning away from his hips, but the metal still caught his head with a clang and he fell immediately before Callum could reach out and grab him.

The sight of seeing Ben lying on the floor lifeless injected something into Callum. His ribs lost their squeezing ache, his elbow’s pain disappeared a numb second and his side smoothed away into nothingness. All he felt was this fury, that rose up and shot through him with the vengeance of Lucifer himself. It flailed and flung him back to his legs, flying forward with a spring, launching himself at his father.

It was just the one punch that did it, but it was like everything in his body was powered into his fist. Every tearful night, every slap, every insult, every shove, every lonely moment that his father had ever caused; every time Callum had ever felt that who he was didn’t matter.

There was the crunch, that sickening grind of bone and slick skin fighting against sloppy gelatinous muscle as his punch made contact with his father’s face. The force seemed to jolt his head but his body remained still, as if working independent from the rest of him. A moment later though, the pipe fell from his hands and he collapsed out cold onto the sofa.

It was like Callum’s body was slowly turning the volume up, inching back the pain into it. The ribs were the first to hit, as every laboured breath was like a torturous nightmare. He couldn’t care about that now though. He just slumped to the floor next to Ben’s head, checking his breathing and his pulse, before just stroking his hands through his hair, waiting for him to wake up.

After a few moments, Ben’s eyes fluttered open and a husky groan exited his throat. He lifted his head up slightly with a wince, before grasping at the carpet to help lean himself up to his elbows. He opened and shut his eyes a few times, clearly trying to get the focus back in his sight. “Ow,” he said with a chuckle, hauling up the rest of his body into a sitting position. “You know that don’t happen at the end of most shags, don’t you?”

“Are you alright?” Callum asked, standing and then holding out an arm so Ben could haul himself up. “You think you got a concussion?”

Ben shook his head. “Tough as old boots, me?” he said, before nodding to Jonno on the sofa. “You defending my honour? He ain’t dead is he?”

As if he heard Ben, Jonno started retching, vomiting in chunks onto the sofa. It was at that moment that the door lock clicked, and Stuart stepped into the lounge, taking in the scene around him. His eyebrows soon turned from confused to bitterness when they clocked Ben in his sights. “What’s he done?”

Ben choked out a laugh. “I get chased around a flat by a geriatric Tyler Durden over here, and battered with part of your kitchen and it’s me that’s the problem!” Ben replied, starting to step forwards to square up to Stuart. “I was happily snuggled up getting my after glow on, until your pervy dad decided he wanted a little glance at the goods!”

“Ben!” Callum said, just loosely holding him at the wrist. It was enough, just delicate enough to be soothing and begging for him to stop in his paces. “Just stop.”

Ben turned back to him a little. “What? You think he don’t know about us?” he asked. Callum turned his head away slightly, knowing full well that Stuart had more than just a small idea. “Dearest big brother has been warning me off you since the moment I walked into that pub!”

“Right out!” Stuart said, leaning forward and grabbing Ben by the arm. “He don’t need you twisting up his mind!”

Callum got between them. “He never did nothing!” he protested. “Nothing I didn’t want him to anyway. I know my own mind. I can decide for myself.”

“Yeah, well you can decide all you want, but his brains will be spread out on the wallpaper once dad wakes up!” Stuart shouted back. “Go on! Piss off!”

Ben shook his head and went back in the bedroom while Stuart looked down at their father with a grimace. He returned a few seconds later with his boots on. He came up to Callum and held his hand, just linking their fingers together as he gave a quick quirk of a smile. “Come with me,” he asked, his voice soft as Stuart turned his head away.

Callum wanted to say yes. He wanted to get his shoes and coat and walk out of here with Ben. He wanted to get back that feeling at the arcade earlier that carried them into his bed. He wanted them to be in their own little world.

But it had been smashed and cracked, destroyed as if the glass of their bubble was only made of set sugar. It didn’t stand the pressure and now it sparkled in shatters and melted into the floor. Jonno was still slightly retching, and the acrid smell in the air suggested that he’d pissed himself too. He’d need to be cleaned up. Someone had to do that. It was him. Perhaps somewhere out there in a different time, a version of Callum would be able to get away and escape for the night. For all the times he had run away, he knew he had to come back. He knew what his life was here.

“Can’t,” he said back gently, leaning his head forward tenderly so it just rested on Ben’s hair. He gave a quick kiss there, feeling the soft strands just tickle his nose. “I’ve got to sort him out. My fault he’s like that.”

“I ain’t leaving you here with him!” Ben protested stepping back. “He was trying to separate your head from your shoulders ten minutes ago!”

“I won’t let anything to happen him,” Stuart replied firmly. “He’s my baby brother, I won’t let no one hurt him.”

It was a warning, a hint and suggestion that he wasn’t just talking about Jonno. “Well, you’ve done a bang up job so far!” Ben said, though there was a grudging understanding there that he would be safe tonight. “You call me if you need me, yeah? You don’t have to stay, Callum.”

Callum just nodded, feeling the strong pull that made him want to go, and he gave his hand a last squeeze before they both let go. Ben heading out the door without looking back.

The clock next to him struck four am exactly. Callum’s head was pounding, though apart from the scratch down his cheek, it was the only part of his body that didn’t seem to be noticeably. The butter yellow beams from the lampshade seemed to strike directly into his brain, the shards of light hitting and berating his head at this late hour.

Callum could barely remember the start of the day, so much had happened since he had woken less than twenty four hours ago. His fingers just brushed against the end of the crushed and creased paper bag, before he reached in and brought out the candy necklace, rolling it in his fingers, and stopping at the gaps that appeared.

Once Ben had gone, he started the job of cleaning up his father. It was a thankless task and one he had done many times before, stripping off his sodden clothing and getting a bowl of hot water, wiping him down with a flannel. He was barely conscious, he never usually was, and the only suggestion that he remembered what he had seen in the bedroom was when he swiped at Callum’s head with a clatter before his eyes lulled again.

Once he had wiped down his father’s soiled body, he tried to stir him a little to get him into some jogging bottoms and a t shirt. He did it with little fuss, the full effect of the whiskey and Callum’s punch hitting his tired body. There was little effort to roll him into bed, silent for now. Placated for now.

It would never last, and he was preparing for the second wave of a storm at some point tomorrow. Once when Callum was younger, his dad had gone to strike him, to clout him around the ear. He can’t even remember what he did wrong, probably nothing, but he knew the whip in the air signalled the wallop was on its way. It was a split second decision, but Callum had stopped his father’s hand by the wrist, just before it brushed his ear.

It had been a momentary relief, and perhaps a foolish one. Certainly later, when the stinging strap mark was welting on his body and he was sat in tears in the corner of his room, it seemed like a mistake. That little rebellion had backfired.

There was only one other time that Callum had stood up to his father; when his grandad had died. That once person who would always be there to save him. Stuart tried, he did the best he could and in his heart his knew his brother thought he protected him enough. Stu wasn’t always around though, wasn’t there for every stabbing word and every bruising hit. He wasn’t there for the humiliation and the torment, and spending every second walking on eggshells.

When he was younger, after his mother had left, it was his Grandad that he could turn to. He often wondered where his mother had gone, what world she was fleeting through. He used to act out little skits with himself where he would travel off to a far away land and rescue her. That he would be recruited by the underworld spy agency through the secret doorway in the lift and he would join her fighting enemies in exotic lands.

The hope of those daydream used to flitter out and he was soon left in his flat in Callum Town. It was his Grandad that would come and take him out, make sure that he had at least one pair of shoes without a holes in, and a coat warm enough for winter. He would slip him ten quid every week, so Callum could put some money on the electric key, and sometimes buy him some comic books. Once he even took him to a West Ham game, for his birthday, and he couldn’t stop bounding up and down as they made their way into the stadium, griping on tightly to his grandfather’s hand.

As Callum got a little older, his grandad didn’t seem quite as mobile as he used to, preferring to watch him play with the football rather than join him for a kickabout. He went into the assisted living accommodation soon after that, and the days out became less frequent. A change to a more supported care home wasn’t that much longer after, but his grandad’s attitude never changed. He was always happy to see Callum, always delighted, always wanting to hear his stories, no matter how ridiculous.

When Callum joined the army, he was proud of him. He would tell everyone in the care home, and stuck a photo of him in his uniform on the shelf in his room. There was still a doubt and a worry in his eyes every time he left, a knowing glance from someone who had stepped in the same shoes.

Then, one time when Callum returned, his Grandad had changed. Just a little at first. His speech was slurred just a touch, slower than it normally was, and he wasn’t getting out of his chair as quickly as he used to, not able to retain his balance when walking like he always could. Callum tried to play it off a little, thinking that maybe it would be something he would recover from, something he would get over.

The next time he returned, the change was substantial. He was on leave for several months now, and that first time he walked into the room he noticed it immediately. His Grandad looked old. He always looked like he was aging, but now his skin was hanging loosely on his bones. There weren’t any more walks, instead Callum had to move him from the chair to the wheelchair to walk around the gardens in the grounds. The frailness becoming even more clear under the light of the sun.

There were other changes too, much more substantial. His Grandad couldn’t speak at all anymore, his words just coming out as noises and sounds. The grip in his hand was still good, still strong enough to hold a pen, but when he wrote down his requests they started to look jumbled. The spelling was unclear or the wrong word would be used. As time went on, it was just a mixture of random words that only Grandad could decipher in his head. There was no way for him to communicate though, no way of letting anyone know his thoughts.

That wasn’t the worst part of that year though. Over the months, his kind, selfless Grandad who would always greet him with a hug, tell him how much he loved him and want to hear everything about his life, grew disinterested. It wasn’t that he didn’t know who everyone was, or had forgotten. He just didn’t seem to care. His world became ever so small.

Towards the end, he barely acknowledged when Callum came in to see him, seeming more concerned about the angle of the television or the blanket on his bed. He never slept on it anyway, stubbornly refusing and hitting the care workers away whenever they tried. He hit Callum once too, when he tried to put his slippers on. He smacked him around the head and pointed towards the door.

When the time came, when he got the call that his grandad had taken a turn for the worse and the doctor had been called, he shouldn’t have been surprised. He shouldn’t have been punched by the realisation that this could be the end. Callum knew his Grandad wouldn’t have wanted to be living how he was, he knew he would have hated it. They knew the prognosis wasn’t hefty, and it was only a matter of time. Why didn’t that knowledge make it easier?

On the way to the care home, he phoned Stuart letting him know what was happening. His brother’s phone was off, so he left a message and text him as well. Then he called Jonno’s mobile. There was no answer, so he tried calling The Pig. The bartender has said he was there, but refused to come to the phone. Callum explained the situation and asked him to let his dad know. A few moments later, the server came back and passed on a message from his dad. “Good Riddance.”

Callum had his father out of his mind as he made the way to the home, one of the managers greeting him with a smile as he rang the intercom to be let in. It was during the night and after normal visiting hours. They chatted on the walk to the room normally about West Ham’s season, and Callum even remembers laughing a little. He knew what he was about to walk into. He knew the scene he’d find, but he wanted to just pretend for a few seconds longer. Just for a moment he wanted to have that tiny glittery glimmer of hope that he would walk into that room, and his Grandad would be sitting up in his chair, laughing and holding out his arms ready to envelope him in a big hug.

The room was dark, just a few dim lamps on, and that small gleam of hope was snuffed out as soon as he entered. Grandad was finally on the bed, after weeks of stubbornly refusing. There was little movement, just the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he gasped breaths in and out. The manager gave him a little rub of his back, and Callum realised that the only other sound, the chokes and sharp inhales, were coming form his own body.

Slowly walking around the bed, he sat down at the chair that was placed there. Callum reached out and gripped his hand, and his grandad squeezed back a little. In hindsight, he wasn’t sure if he did, not sure if he realised that it was Callum who was there, but he hoped. He hoped that years of holding his hand would stir that memory and Grandad would just know that he was here.

One of the nurses came in and put her hand on Callum’s shoulder, telling him that his grandad wasn’t in pain, they’d given him something to help him be at ease. They all slipped out the room then, after offering to stay if he wanted. He didn’t. They were lovely, but he just wanted to be alone. He just wanted to be with the only person who knew him.

Callum sat still, just stroking his thumb over Grandad’s hand. Just the two of them in the dark quiet. His eye caught his own face smiling back at him from the shelf in front of the bed. He didn’t know who that man was in the photograph, it was like a different person from a different time. That person wasn’t someone he recognised, the mask was too firmly set. Next to the picture was a paper poppy, left over from Remembrance Day a few weeks ago. A reminder of what had been lost, and a hint that loss never ended.

Grandad’s breaths were deeper now, audible filling the room, and they were less frequent. Callum rubbed his thumb again over the back of his hand. Abruptly, his Grandad pulled his hand away, let it slide from Callum’s grip. He had let go. He was letting him know he was ready to let go.

It wasn’t long before Grandad took a couple of deep harsh breaths, and then there was a pause, a long moment when the silence pounded in his ears. There was another long harsh breath. Then nothing. Still nothing. Callum reached over and pressed the button the care team had left there, and they were soon delicately coming in. They confirmed what Callum already knew. He was gone.

He stepped outside for a few moments while they did everything they needed to, the brightness of the hallway seeming glaring and the familiarity playing with his mind. When he was told he could go back in, Callum sat next to his grandad, and just stroked his arm gently. He didn’t know how long he was there, in his mind he was expecting Stuart and his dad to come in, but they never did.

Eventually, the sun started to creep through the curtain, signalling a new day. He wanted to leave now. It was over and there was no more he could do. Giving his grandad a kiss on the forehead, he whispered a few words in his ear, and then walked out the room. He didn’t look back.

When he got back to the flat that morning, he found Stuart and his Dad lazing about on the sofa. That was the only time he lost his temper with his dad, shouting the flat down while he just sat there with pursed lips. Perhaps he was upset underneath it all, maybe that was his way of showing it. Stuart was apologetic, saying he hadn’t checked his phone in time, but he didn’t want to listen to either of them. Going to his room, he packed a bag, told them to arrange the funeral, and then left. He ran away, not to some exotic land to go fight baddies with his mother, but to a hotel, where he hid under a duvet for three days.

Now that the sun was starting to creep through the curtains, he realised he was performing the same action now. Hiding in his room, curling up in the duvet and grasping the necklace, pretending that it didn’t happen. Callum knew he should change the sheets really, they stank of beer that had been knocked when they had jumped up, and they smelt of him and Ben. That’s why he didn’t want to change them though; he wanted to keep him in his head and pretend that nothing else happened.

After another hour, he heard a creaking at the door and he could sense his brother come in and lean against the wardrobe. “I thought you was interested in that army fella,” he muttered quietly.

Callum spun around quickly, sitting up and dropping the necklace out his hand. “And you’d be okay with that, if I was?” he asked, squinting at his brother. Stuart who he had heard litter a craze of expletives and names whenever anyone mentioned someone who was gay. “You actually sitting there and saying you’d be alright with me going out with a bloke?”

Stuart shuffled his feet and looked down. “I ain’t exactly doing cartwheels about it and announcing it in the paper, am I?” he remarked. “But if that’s what you are, there ain’t much more I can do.”

“Then why you been warning Ben off me then?” Callum asked, and it didn’t make any sense to him. He didn’t understand how Stuart could suddenly be alright with this after all these years.

“I told you before, he’s a wrong’un,” Stuart said, pointing at the window, as if he may appear at any second. “A boy like that will break you. He’ll make you unhappy.”

“I’m already unhappy!” Callum cried out, before picking up a pillow and hugging it to him. “I didn’t have anything to be happy about before I met him. Everyone else is allowed to live their lives and do what they want to. Why can’t I?”

Stuart just shrugged. “Dad’s awake. I calmed him down a bit, but he ain’t exactly skipping in circles about finding you two…cuddled up together,” he said. “I told him that Mitchell just took advantage of you, that you’re a soft touch and got swept away by it.”

Callum glared at his brother. “That’s not what happened,” he said low toned, furious that what happened between him and Ben was being reduced to a quick fumble and that was it. “He’s special to me. He gets me.”

“Well, that army fella, Chris, yeah?” Stuart said, his face looking hopeful. “You like him, don’t you? I think Dad might eventually come around if you wanted to…well become friendly with him. I don’t think he’d want you to act like you’re, you know, but he might not flip out.”

Callum just shook his head and tuned over flinging his head down on the pillow and curling up in a ball. There was another creak at the door as Stuart left. He closed his eyes and breathed in, pretending Ben was in here like he was last night. The room was dull and dreary without him, and he didn’t want to see it. Instead he just closed his eyes and thought back to a few hours before, trying to remember that feeling and get it through his body. It has been so visceral at the time, but now it was faded.

A few hours later, Callum’s eyes fluttered open. He twisted his body to get his phone to see the time, when a burn cluttered harshly down his side. He closed his eyes and gripped at his body, waiting for the shock of the scrape to stop. Shuffling slowly to the end of the mattress, he opened up the drawer in his bedside table and found some painkillers lingering in the bottom. He popped out two, before grabbing one of the unopened beers on the side. He clicked it open and took a long chug. It was tepid, dulling the flavour and heightening the fume of alcohol. Callum popped in the two tablets, swallowing them down and gulping back a few more mouthfuls.

Picking up his phone, he groaned when he saw the time. He was due at the pub in less than a couple of hours and his body just thumped with the pain. Callum noticed there was a message that had come through that morning. He was expecting it.

_“We should talk. Can we meet? x”_

Callum groaned as he got up off the bed and looked in the mirror. There was a large red mark down his cheek, and bruising all down his arms. He didn’t even want to look at his side. Instead, he started to type back a response.

_“I’m working at the pub at 12. Come in then. X”_

Callum managed to drag himself into the shower, a little bit of horror creeping into his face at the multitude of colours that covered his bruised torso. The hot water helped to soothe his body a little, but it had taken a battering in many ways the day before. When he left the flat, he didn’t say a word to his dad, who was sitting in his chair flicking through the channels. They had nothing to say to each other.

It was a beautiful day, and the sun felt warm on his skin there were a few wispy wool clouds but they didn’t stop the light flowing through. Callum heard a crash of glass breaking, and whipped his head over to the wall. He frowned with confusion.

“Jude?” he said, approaching the woman sitting on the bricks, swinging her legs and looking forlornly at the bottle of vodka that was now bleeding onto the pavement. Callum almost hadn’t recognised her; her blonde bob was now transformed to a chestnut wave that was pulled back, and her long navy dress was demure and fitted against her thin frame. “What’s all this? You up in court?”

Judy gave a little smile back, just the corners of her mouth turning up. “No, got a job interview, haven’t, I?” she said, before rummaging around in her purse, pulling out a hip flask. “My mum set it up. It’s some grim office in the city, filing paper and typing letters.”

“You got a pub floating about in there?” he said, nodding to her bag, as she took a long swig of her drink. “You don’t wanna go there stinking of booze do you?”

“It might distract from the fact that I can’t switch on a computer!” she remarked, offering him a swig from the flask. He shook his head. “How am I supposed to know how to touch type? What the hell is a qwerty? I don’t even know if I want it, sitting day after day on the same chair looking at the same wall.”

“Just go and be yourself,” he said, giving her a rub of her arm. “They’ll love you.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re only saying that because for some reason you love me, but I can guarantee they won’t never have seen a sadder sight!” she replied, before lifting her head slightly. “Any Twats in Shining Escorts pop by to rescue you from the Stepford Soldier?”

Callum gave a tut and elbowed her a little. “Don’t be mean,” he said. “He’s my friend and a good bloke. And yes, funnily enough Ben worked out where I was. Oh, he said to tell you that the lube you got was rubbish.”

Judy rolled her eyes. “Oh please, like it makes a difference to him. He’d stick half a tub of hummus up his bumhole if he thought there was a chance your cock would follow soon after!” she replied, before her face changed and her mouth opened. “Wait, does this mean you finally got your pickle dipped in the mustard?”

Callum nodded with shy smile. Despite what happens afterwards, he couldn’t help but feel that spark when he thought about them together. “It was beautiful.”

“Wow, well done Crabby Kecks!” she said impressed. “I’m so happy for you. To have that with someone you care about, and who cares about you, is wonderful.”

“Is that what it was like for you?” he asked, slipping his hand into hers. “When you had your first proper time?”

Judy looked down, as if thinking back to a memory that was pushed away. “No, not quite,” she replied, kicking her heel against the bricks. “But hey, at least you’ve found someone who makes it good for you. I can see it all over your face! God, some of the fellas I’ve had! They stick their hand down there for two minutes and rummage around like they’re trying to play Three Blind Mice on the recorder, and think that’s good enough foreplay! Then they drag it in and out a few times before rolling off you and passing out. I hope you gave our little Bolshy Bunny’s boots a good knocking!”

“I know how to take care of my man, thank you!” he said with a chuckle. Being here with Judy and just talking to someone who knew Ben, the real him and understood what they had. It felt freeing, the sun just beating down on them, sitting on this wall like time was stopped. He felt free. “Talking of which, how’s things with you and Mo?”

Her smile dropped again. It hadn’t been at her eyes anyway today, but now even her mouth couldn’t keep up with the act. “Chucked me again, didn’t he?”

“What? Why? I’m gonna kill that prick!” he said, his annoyance creeping in. “I told you he was no good for you, Jude!”

“Yeah, and what did you do when people were saying the same thing about, Ben?” she huffed back. “He came back and said he loved me, that he’d made a huge mistake. Turns out all he wanted was someone to shag behind Posh Patty’s back cause she been holding out on him.”

“He’s back with Aleena?” Callum asked, but he knew the answer. Mo had always just been using Judy. The heartbreaking act was that she knew it as well. She was prepared to be treated like rubbish because she had a small spark of hope that maybe it would change. “Does she know?”

Judy shook her head. “No, poor cow got no clue. I ain’t gonna tell her either, that ain’t me,” she replied. “That’s why he nicked those fourteen packets of smoked salmon. It was her parent’s anniversary party and he brought them along, like some shreds of pongy seafood are a declaration of love. I think it says it all really. He’s the one that got away, that I really thought wouldn’t.”

“You’ll find someone better, Jude!” he insisted, squeezing her hand tight. “You will, I know it. Plenty more fish in the sea!”

Judy turned to him and scowled, but he could see she was holding in a laugh. “You are a motherfucking arsehole, Callum Highway!” she replied, giving him a shove that clattered straight to his side. “You are lucky that I love you more than I love Twister ice lollies, and I would blow your entire platoon for one of those!”

“I love you too,” he said, taking the flask out of her hand and placing it back in her bag. “Besides, you’ve always got me. I ain’t going anywhere. I’m always going to be here for you.”

She smiled at him, a knowing one like she was sharing a secret with herself, one that he didn’t understand. “I better get going, eh? I can’t just click my heels together and end up at the interview,” she said, jumping down from the wall and pulling her hand away from Callum’s. “It’s pointless anyway, they’ll take one look at me and laugh their heads off.”

“They won’t!” he insisted. Then he remembered his trip to the arcade the day before. “I’ll pop by and see you later after work. I’ve got a little present for you!”

Judy nodded, picking up her bag as she started to walk across the courtyard. “No rainbow again today,” she said pointing to the sky. “Bye, Callum.”

Pushing open the door to the pub, Callum took a quick glance around. He wasn’t here yet. Glancing at his watch, he saw that he was a little early anyway, and he went and leaned on the bar.

“Alright, mate,” he greeted Steve, giving a large wince as his side twisted at the movement.

“Yeah, not bad Callum,” he said, frowning at his bartender. “You don’t look it though. You been in the wars?”

Callum nodded. “A bit of a falling out with my dad,” he explained, not wanting to defend the man or hide his actions at this moment. “I know I’m a bit early, but I’m just meeting someone for five minutes before I start, if that’s alright?”

“That’s fine, mate,” he said. “You can go home if you ain’t feeling too good though. I ain’t gonna make you pull pints when you’re keeled over. He here for you?”

Callum turned around to where Steve was signalling, and smiled at the man at the door. “Sit down, I’ll get us some drinks,” he told the man, who stepped into the bar and went to find a table . “Just two orange juices, please mate.”

Steve glanced at Chris curiously, and Callum was wondering if he knew. Perhaps he could sense that they’d kissed, or he recognised that the way Chris was looking at him was more than just friendly. “Things not working out with Ben, then?” the landlord asked.

Callum frowned back, confused at the question. “What you talking about?”

The landlord placed down the two drinks down on the bar. “I ain’t blind, Callum,” he replied, wiping down the bar. “I can see how you look at him. Add to the fact that he hasn’t shut up about you for the past six months, you can see how I’ve put two and two together. I ain’t exactly Poirot!”

Callum’s heart stopped, his chest tightening even more than it did with the pain. Was he about to get thrown out, or worse, bottled or beaten up? He glanced around, almost expecting a hoard of regulars to come out of hiding ready to string him up. “You know?” he asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Steve gave a laugh. “Relax, boy, I ain’t about to kick your head in!” he replied. “What do you take me for?”

“You called Ben an abomination!” he reminded his boss. “You laugh along when all the fellas make their little comments!”

“You remember my dad, don’t you Callum?” Steve asked, leaning forward on the bar. He nodded back. It was hard to forget the larger than life landlord, his bellowing laugh and gutter language. Callum was always wary of him, would never sit and chat with the man like he did with Steve. There were some men in this bar who were wretched, the grime on a toilet bowl of life, but the former landlord was the worst of the worst. “I loved him, I did. He was my dad, and that ain’t nothing. But I ain’t sorry he’s dead.”

“Why?” he asked. Steve had always seemed so close to his father, always reminiscing back to being brought up behind the bar.

“The night after his funeral, I went into my son’s room and he was crying,” Steve started to explain. “I thought he was upset about dad, so I comforted him and told him everything was gonna be okay. That’s when he told me. That’s when he came out.”

Callum didn’t really know Steve’s son, the one the landlord had been so proud of recently because he had got into university. He’d seen him a few times, but he never came to the bar. Now he knew why.

“He told me that he could never tell me before, he was so scared of what my dad might say, or if I’d have the same reaction,” Steve continued. “But he said he couldn’t hold it in any longer, and if I was gonna throw him out then I should just do it then. My own son, Callum. He’d been tormenting himself for years, thinking I’d disown him or worse just for who he is. “

“I didn’t know,” Callum said with a shake of his head, taking a sip of his orange juice. “Does anyone else around here?”

Steve shook his head. “He never comes in here. How could he with the talk that’s thrown around? I won’t let him be around that. I wont let him be beaten down in this pigsty, not like-“

“Not like I am,” Callum replied, though he knew Steve would have been too polite to say it out loud. He must have been thinking it all this time, wondering why he stuck around in a place he didn’t fit in. There wasn’t a good way to explain that when you don’t fit in anywhere, everywhere is a nightmare. “Why’d you just let them get away with it? Why own a place that you wouldn’t want your son to come into?”

“Money, boy!” Steve said with a laugh. “I know this place don’t look it, but it gives a regular income, just enough to pay my bills. I’ve wanted to do more ever since I got my hands on it, but I ain’t had the funds till now.”

“You’ve got the money to do up the pub?” he asked, feeling a little less guilty about the destroyed booth over in the corner. “You know you’re still gonna get the same old comments though, mate? It’ll just be the same regulars, with the same chat but with a bit of fresh paint.”

“The regulars are welcome if they want, but I doubt they’ll be making the same bullshit comments,” Steve replied with a grin. “If they do, they’ll be doing it in London’s newest gay bar.”

Callum’s mouth dropped open and he let out a laugh. “You ain’t!” he said, as the landlord beamed knowingly back at him. “The locals are gonna do their nut!”

“They can do what they want, by the time they find out we’ll be kitted out and ready to open,” he replied. “I’m telling them that I’m closing for refurbishments in about a week. My son’s starting uni soon. It’s a local one, so he’ll be living at home, but I want him to have somewhere to bring his friends to. I want him to feel like he fits in here.”

“Mate, that’s amazing,” he said, and he couldn’t help the tinge of jealousy that whirled around his body. Steve’s son had a father who was changing his whole business just to make him happy. He couldn’t help to think about how he spent some of last night dodging out the way of a metal pipe. “Is this your round about way of saying I’m out of a job?”

“Are you joking me?” Steve replied, banging his hand on the bar for emphasis. “I’m counting on you being behind this bar to draw in customers! You’ll stay on won’t you?”

Callum thought it through. He wouldn’t be able to hide anymore, he wouldn’t be able to blend in and hope no one saw him. He’d be free. “I will, but on one condition,” he said, as the landlord raised his eyebrows. “I come as a pair deal. You gotta give Judy a job too. She’d be amazing, you know she would!”

Steve nodded with a roll of his eyes. “She’d be great with the customers, there’s no denying it, but she’d also drink most my profits away!” he replied, before giving a sigh. “Alright, deal, but you tell her that if I ever see a gin shaped lump coming from her knickers she’s out on her ear!”

“I will take full responsibility for her!” he said, holding his hands up. “Did Ben have anything to do with changing the bar?”

“He’s been great,” Steve replied. “It’s funny what can happen when you break down and get chatting to the mechanic! As much as it pains me to say it, isn’t there someone else you should be focusing your attention on right now?”

Callum frowned in confusion, until Steve nodded towards the back of the pub. “Oh shit,” he said, almost forgetting Chris was there. He took the two glasses of orange juice. “Cheers, mate.”

Walking over to the table on the other side of the bar, he placed them down carefully. “I thought you’d forgotten about me,” Chris said with a chuckle, as Callum pulled his stool closer. “What with running off yesterday as well, it’s like you’re trying to avoid me.”

Callum took a long drink of his orange juice, the sharp citrus making him shudder. He wish he’d got lemonade. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he said tracing his finger along the condensation left on the table. He should have got a coaster, but he supposed the pub would be getting new furniture soon enough. “It was really rude of me to leave without thanking Vicky for a lovely lunch.”

He heard Chris sigh next to him as he continued to make letters out of the cool liquid deposited from the glass. His movements were soon stopped though when a hand covered his fingers. “I weren’t mad about you leaving lunch, H,” Chris said, his voice close to his ear. “I just want to know what’s going on with us. Is it your dad? I know he didn’t seem like the most enlightened man in the world, but if we both sat him down and had a chat. I get it, I do. I’ve been there. When I sat down and told my dad I was gay, I could tell by his eyes it was a bit of a shock. He was a bit quiet for a few days, but he soon came around!”

Callum didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to explain that his dad didn’t just stare back wide eyed but instead tried to batter his skull in. “It ain’t that,” he admitted quietly. He didn’t mind the J20 that had orange in, they had a lot of sugar in though, so he supposed that took away the sharpness. He should have got one of them. They had them in the fridge behind the bar. “There’s someone else.”

He felt Chris nod next to him, but he didn’t take away his hand like Callum thought he would. “The angry boy from this pub?” he asked, but it was just a confirmation of what he knew. “I get the attraction, H, but how well do you really know him? How well can you really trust someone like that? He’s all over the place. I thought we had something. I thought you knew how I felt all these years. I thought you felt the same way.”

“I did,” Callum replied. What he really wanted was a pint of coke. Thick, sugary, liquid blackening the glass that clinked with cool ice, watering down the taste so it just slid down your throat. “I care about you so much. You are the best man I have ever met in my life. You are so important to me.”

“But you don’t want to be with me?” Chris asked, and Callum hated the disappointment in his voice. He hated that he’d put this little ink blot of darkness into this pure, good soul. “I would treat you so well, H. I’d never hurt you.”

“I know,” Callum replied, before pulling his hand away from Chris’ grip, freeing his fingers, and turning his eyes to face him. “But I can’t say the same.”

It seemed to sink in then for Chris, it all clicked that it couldn’t happen, and he stood up. “Well don’t think I’m giving up on you,” he replied. “I’ll never give up on you. I know you think this boy is right for you, but I don’t think you’re seeing him the way everyone else is. It will end. He’ll break your heart.”

“Maybe,” Callum admitted. “But he’s the person who started it working in the first place. It’s his to break.”

There was another darkened splodge that he marked Chris with, and Callum knew he had to get him away before he cracked and fractured him anymore. “I’m off back to the army soon, and I won’t be back on leave until early next year,” Chris explained. “Hopefully you’ll feel differently then. I’ll give you a call in February. I ain’t giving up on you, H.”

He walked out the door, looking back at the table as he went, but Callum had his head down. He couldn’t bear goodbyes.

Steve came over and patted him on the back, placing down a shot glass. “Get that down you, and then get yourself home,” he said. “You ain’t in a fit state to work, and it’s hardly bursting at the seams in here. I’m sure I’ll cope pouring out Bob a glass of rum and blackcurrant every few hours.”

Callum poured the shot down his neck, the droplets tickling and sticking to the nodules in his throat with a harsh and needed burn. He clapped Steve on the back, and strode out the door, pulling his phone out his pocket as he went.

“It’s me, where are you?” he asked into his mobile when the call was answered, running down the stairs two at a time. “I’ll meet you on the High Street. I need to see you.”

Callum’s legs kept walking, looking around him for the face he wanted to see. Everything else around him seemed to blur to a brownish sludge, fading and flickering out of focus into a sepia tone. It fell into the background, as he seemed to step downstage, tearing away from it. The smells and sounds around him were distant, just lingering in the air rather than the pungent memories they usually conveyed. There was one thing and one thing only that stood out in his sight, and that was the green car parked on the corner.

He quickly shuffled his feet along the pavement, biting his lip to stop him bursting into a run. When he got to the car, he pulled open the door with as much force as he thought it could take and jumped in.

“Alright?” Ben asked, and the first sight Callum saw was the bruise on his face, the multitude of colours matching those he saw on his own body before he got in the shower. “See, you call and less than-“

His sentence was stopped when Callum leaned over and placed his lips over his words, bending his body forcibly to reach across and grab the back of Ben’s head to pull him closer. He parted his lips willingly against Callum’s attack, pressing his own tongue back in response. After a second, he pushed Callum back a little. “You want to get nicked for indecent behaviour in front of Superdrug?” he said with a laugh, as he adjusted his body in his seat and cleared his throat. “Not exactly something I want to add to my record; getting pulled out the car by some fifty year old overweight copper, pressed into the bonnet, and then handcuffed and patted down with my jeans round my ankles as families driving off for a nice pub lunch have got their noses pressed against their windows staring at my arse.”

“Coward,” Callum smiled back, leaning into his seat and putting his belt on. “I like your arse.”

“I’ve created a monster,” Ben remarked with a shake of his head and a smirk, pulling back out into the road and heading off down the street with a screech and splutter. “Actually, scrap that. I always knew you’d be like this. I’ve only got myself to blame for being lured into your wicked game.”

Callum rubbed the back of Ben’s hair with a laugh as they headed to the outskirts of London. “Did you know Steve was turning the pub into a gay bar?”

Ben grinned back. “He’s told you, has he?” he said, darting his eyes back to the road. “I said he should just start giving you a uniform of mesh and leather, break the idea to you slowly, but he obviously just blurted it out. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” he replied, his side tingling a little. He opened up the glove compartment in front of him, pulling out an oil can and a bag of apples as he rummaged in further. “I’ve talked him into giving Judy a job there.”

“Help yourself, why don’t you!” Ben said with a chuckle, nodding to Callum digging some more items out of the compartment. “What you looking for?”

“Painkillers,” he replied, meeting Ben’s look a little shyly, not able to stop his eyes moving to the man’s bruised head. “You got any?”

“Yeah actually, there should be some in there,” he pointed, as Callum brought out a small bottle of lube and held it up, eyebrows raised. “What? You know me, a right little boy scout. Be prepared for dib dabbing and all that!”

“These them?” Callum asked, waving a foil packet of painkillers at him, before he shoved everything unceremoniously back in the glove compartment, giving it a good whack to get it to close. “You got anything to drink?”

Ben gave a laugh, rummaging around in the holder of his car door and producing a can of cider. “You’re very demanding today,” he said pulling the can open and passing it to Callum. “Don’t take too many of those; they’re strong. Some shit that Dolly Bird left in my car when I took her home that time. Her bag fell open and it was like an aisle of Boots dropped under the seat. God knows what else was in there. You only need one of those.”

Callum threw two in his mouth and them gulped them down with some of the cider, the sweetness mixed with the slight background of alcohol soothing his body already. He needed it to get out his next question. “Ben, what did you do?” he asked, turning his head towards the driver. “To help with the pub. What did you do?”

“Well, I did suggest that Steve change the name to ‘Pig Play’ once he’d made all the renovations,” Ben said deflecting the question. “But that idea got squashed pretty quickly. I don’t think he liked a lot of my ideas funnily enough!”

Callum leaned his hand over, resting it on his thigh. “Ben,” he said firmly. “What did you have to do?”

Ben took a deep breath, staring intently at the road. “Steve needed the money, yeah? I told you my dad has a pub? Took it over at the start of the year. I’ve been laundering the money through there for a few less than kosher jobs I’ve been doing. Ordered a shit load of vodka every week from the supplier, and sold it on to some contacts that Steve got me.”

“You’ve been selling off hooky booze on someone else’s patch!” Callum said, with a shake of his head. “They know your name, don’t they? They know you’ve been taking away their business!”

“Sort of,” he said, and he gave a smile, just a little one. “They know my last name.”

“You think they’ll go looking for your dad?” he asked, eyes wide. “He gonna be happy about that?”

Ben just shrugged. “He’ll probably try and send them my way,” he explained. “He’ll wriggle out of it somehow. Let’s just say my dad never had a bit of lead piping but his reaction towards me ain’t so different. You get it, right?”

Callum nodded and threaded his fingers back into Ben’s hair, brushing the nape of his neck softly with this thumb. “Course,” he replied as Ben leaned back into his touch. There was the implication there, hanging between them, something that hadn’t been said. The repercussions of Ben’s actions.

Looking around at their location, Callum could see a small farm house in the distance, one he recognised. “Is this the field we came to before?” he asked with a smile, craning his neck to check.

Ben nodded in return. “We’re over the other side this time. I found a little gate that we can drive the car into,” he replied. “The farm house was all boarded up when I came to look, don’t think anyone is living there at the moment.”

The car slowed down to a stop down a quiet deserted lane, and Ben jumped out, running out in front to unlock and push open a large gate. He signalled for Callum to bring the car in, and he unclicked his belt clambering over to the driver’s seat to slowly slide the car forward into the field, parking it a little way in.

Callum got out the car, breathing in the smell of dusty hay and fragrant pollen. It was heady and floated around his body, mixing and mingling with the painkillers and alcohol that resided there. It buttered all his senses and let the soothing breeze coat him with calm and coolness. The sun was still looming down, though it was slightly retreating behind a few clouds, its work for the day getting close to being over.

He felt hands slide round his waist and stop on his belly, rubbing in circles. Callum reached down and stroked them softly with his fingers, all the way from the knuckles to the elbows. The skin there wasn’t all pale; there were bruises and marks, all fresh and new, as well as a scarlet line that ran across one arm, matching the pattern on Callum’s cheek.

Turning around quickly, he took Ben’s face in his hands, nuzzling his nose gently against the bruise plastered there, before giving it the softest brush of a kiss. He moved his mouth lower, stopping at every mark or scar, old or new, that he could find until he reached down to the ruby line on his arm. He smothered it in kisses, pulling the skin there in with his lips and soothing it softly with his tongue.

“Not your fault,” Ben said, his voice deep in his throat as he moved his hand to lift up Callum’s chin so he could meet his eyes. “None of it was your fault. Come here.”

He brought Callum back up to his lips, using one hand to grab at his t shirt to keep their mouths together, and one to lightly push at Callum’s chest. The light force sent his feet walking backwards until the back of his legs hit the side of the bonnet with a bump.

Ben continued to keep a strong fist tight on Callum’s shirt, not letting his mouth move for a second as Callum gasped a little for breath as the kisses became short and open mouthed, sloppy contact of their lips persistent and tenacious in their grasp. Ben’s other hand moved down and undid Callum’s belt, his eyes open now, not to ask, but to tempt him further.

Callum couldn’t help but let his eyes flutter shut when Ben slipped his hand under the clothing and started to rub him, rhythmically twisting his fist in a way that made him try to grab hold of the metal of the car, the acrid fumes of the petrol and rusted metal mixing in his head with the strong earthy straw hay fluttering around them.

It wasn’t until he felt his jeans and boxers being pulled down that he cracked open one eye, and saw that Ben was on his knees, biting his lip. Callum brought his hand down and ran it through Ben’s hair gently, before moving it down to cup his face. He took his hardened cock in his other hand and brought it to Ben’s lips just rubbing the head gently across the bottom one. In his other hand, he kept Ben’s face tilted towards him, looking into the stormy eyes.

Ben never moved a muscle, almost like he just knew what Callum wanted at that second, but he could feel harsh breaths just whisper to the tip of his cock, and it made him twitch in anticipation. The light, the smells, the views and the sounds just heating his blood to boiling point. Finally Callum closed his eyes, knowing it would be understood, and he felt a fist grasp the base of his dick and a rough, slick tongue run long thick strips right up to the tip.

Ben started to put his lips around the head softly, lapping and swirling gently with his tongue before suddenly sinking his mouth down as far as he could go, causing Callum to curse and try and grip anything on the car with the hand that wasn’t pressed against the back on Ben’s head.

He wanted to move his hips; it felt like they were rusted into place with the tension of trying to keep them still. Callum gave them a little rock, not able to resist any longer, as Ben sucked and swallowed musically, using his hand to stroke up to meet his mouth. He rocked slightly again, and Ben hummed, the vibration rocketing through Callum like a harmony and causing him to grab at the car again. There was a snap as his hand lost its anchor, and the windscreen wiper came off clean in his fingers.

He let it drop out of his hand, and if Ben noticed he didn’t give any sign. He simply moved up the hand that wasn’t rubbing at Callum’s balls, and grabbed at the other man’s fingers, linking them tightly.

Callum’s toes were curling up into his shoes now, and his thighs were burning from restraint as this fiery wave gently crashed from his belly, further and further with every turning tide. He couldn’t resist now, and started to rock his hips with every stroke and suck of Ben’s mouth, the hand on his head tightening to keep those rubied lips in place.

He wasn’t quite sure what did it, probably the flat swirl of Ben’s tongue flicking at the underside of his dick just in the right way, but he came suddenly shooting into the mouth surrounding him which swallowed and gulped down around him, heightening and stretching the feeling as the nip in the breeze stung as it hit his sweatened cheeks. There was nothing but Ben and the open air around him. He was free.

As his breathing returned, dropping down a little, and the sweat started to run in a small river down his cheek, he leaned his arms back on the bonnet, as Ben sucked off him with a little kiss and tucked him back into his boxers. He stood up with a little wince, and threw his arms around Callum’s waist, hugging against him. The bruising in his side didn’t hurt. His body seemed to know, seemed to be comforted and accepting of the gesture.

Callum lifted up a little, giving Ben a squeeze back before lifting his chin with his hands to bring his mouth up for a kiss. After a few seconds he pulled back slightly, screwing his face up a little from the taste of himself on Ben’s tongue.

“I know you inhale sugar, but I’m sorry to say you don’t quite have the flavour of cherryade when you come,” Ben said with a chuckle, before his face changed and he pulled back a little. “That reminds me, I have something for you.”

“What is it?” he asked, giving Ben another little kiss on the lips.

“Patience,” he said, bending down and picking the windscreen wiper from the grass. “Although, I’m having second thoughts now you’ve fucked up part of my car!”

Callum just gave a grin and a shrug as Ben moved to the boot of the car, pulling out a few items. He came back and lay one of them down on the grass. “Your blanket, good sir,” he said in a mock posh accent, flailing his hand in a bow.

Looking down, Callum raised his eyebrows. “It’s a bit of old tarpaulin,” he replied, as the material crackled about in the wind. “Is that oil on it?”

“Just sit down on the fucking blanket, will you?” Ben replied with a huff, throwing himself onto the blue material, placing down a bag and a couple of cans of cider. “I try to get romantic and I’m getting décor critiques after I’ve just sucked you off!”

“Sorry,” Callum said, withholding a laugh at the sulking man in front of him as he sat down. He leaned over and gave him a kiss. “You’re right; it’s dead romantic. You can’t move on Valentine’s Day’s for the shops selling rows of heavy duty water proof cloth.”

“Fuck you!” Ben said, grabbing a bunch of grass and hurling it at Callum. He reached back twice more and continued to hurl it his way, becoming more infuriated when the breeze just seemed to carry it, settle with a flutter. He grabbed a can off the cider, opening it up and taking down a gulp. “Look, you’ve got a buttercup on you. Fucking heartless bastards both deserve one another.”

Callum leaned over and gave Ben three sloppy kisses to his cheek, leaving his hand in the man’s hair to gently stroke at the strands. Ben was still pouting, but leaning into Callum’s fingers. With his other hand, he picked up the little yellow flower and twirled it in his hand. “How mad are you gonna get if I tell you this is a dandelion?” Callum said, biting his lip to keep himself from laughing, looking around at where this patch of field that was covered in them.

“The fucking hell am I supposed to know what it is!” Ben said, pulling his head away and lying down with his arms folded. Do I look like your tour guide for Kew fucking Gardens? I ain’t gonna give you what I brought you now. You can gnaw on your sodding dandelion!”

Callum dropped the flower and lay down next to Ben on his side, resting his hand on his elbow. “You get really sulky when you’re horny,” he said, moving his hand over and rubbing Ben through his jeans. He started to undo his belt, looking up and seeing a twinkle in Ben’s eyes. “Is this for me?”

Ben used his hand to knock over the bag towards Callum, and he sat back up to look inside, bringing out a large white box. Opening it up, he saw the most decadent cream slice. The slivers of golden pastry were thin and crumbly and let off a bready scent. They were interspersed with thick bulging layers of whipped cream, oozing gently from the sizes, and thin, sticky claret jam, gooey and dripping from the cake. On the top, there was a thick layer of icing, the vanilla sweetness hitting his palate, drifting up from the milky white spread. It was adorned with fresh strawberries, the crimson jewels shining as drops of their juice shone in the light.

“This for me?” he asked, and he couldn’t help but hide his glee as he beamed out at the man laying back with his arms behind his head.

Ben just rolled his eyes. “No, I’m also shagging a cow in the next field. She may not be a looker, but she’s got the best hooves this side of Lambeth and got a real taste for baked goods! I thought I’d just drop in on her on the way back! Of course it’s for you!” he snarked, and Callum was pleased to see him smile again. “You are the Tooth Fairy’s wet dream, you know that?”

Callum leaned over and started to kiss Ben, deepening it as he lowered his hand under his clothing, stroking him softly. Ben simply moaned into his mouth, happy at the gentle strokes to his cock and the tongue working its way around his mouth.

Sitting back on his knees, Callum removed his hand, earning himself a small frown. Instead, he reached over to the cake, taking a couple of the strawberry pieces from the top. He popped one into his mouth, the sweet sharpness and mellow fragrance coating his tongue. The other piece he held against Ben’s lips. His eyes darted back and forth between the fruit and Callum for a second, darkening a little when he realised where this was going. He sucked the strawberry off Callum’s fingers noisily with a groan.

Callum didn’t even wait for him to stop chewing before he leaned down and kissed Ben, his lips glistening with juice which his tongue licked off eagerly. When he leaned back, Ben was breathing heavily, and the middle of his eyes were a wicked black. “Lube, car,” he huffed out, and Callum didn’t have to be asked twice.

When he skidded back to the tarpaulin with the container in his hand, Ben had kicked off his shoes and slid down his clothing. As Callum leant down and started to kiss and lick up his dick, Ben took the bottle out of his hand. Callum frowned a little, but when Ben just waved a hand at his mouth he understood and went back to his cock, circling the base with his fingers and continuing to just lightly stroke and he dropped gentle sucks and kisses. Not too much, just enough to tease.

Callum could hear Ben work himself with the lube and his fingers, the little moans he gave with every breath just adding to the texture and thickness of the sound, as his arm brushed Callum’s head with the motion. Reaching behind him, he brought the box closer, drawing his finger through a splodge of cream and then wiping it onto Ben’s lower belly. He gave a little hiss at the coolness and Callum could see his fingers speed up as his moans got louder.

Running his tongue, long and languidly, over the milky melted droplets, Callum ducked his finger into the cake again, this time bringing it back and wiping it in a line down Ben’s cock, before lapping and sucking it off with mouth.

Ben pulled his hand away from himself then, fumbling about and passing the bottle of lube to Callum. He held it for a second before pausing momentarily, and then standing up, gripping Ben’s arm to heave him up with him. He received a look and a groan, but then got a knowing nod as Callum pushed him towards the car.

“Don’t you dare break anything else on this,” Ben said, his voice crackling breathlessly as he turned around and faced the vehicle, while Callum quickly undid his belt and dragged down his jeans and underwear. He squeezed some liquid from the bottle, rubbing it on to his fingers and palm, dropping the container onto the grass as he started to stroke and spread it along his dick.

He went to stand behind Ben closely, leaning forwards and nipping down his neck while he gave a few thrusts into his back, letting him feel. Callum wanted Ben to know how he made him feel, how there were no shackles on what he could do, no chains weighing him down. There were no nails pressed in tightly keeping him still. He could move how he wanted, do what he wanted and love how he wanted.

Gently pressing a palm to Ben’s back, it signalled to him to move forward, and he did, bending over the car. Callum gently pressed his shoe to either side of Ben’s feet, causing him to widen his legs as much as he could. Taking his cock in his hand, he gave a few strokes groaning at the sight before him, before he lined himself up and slowly started to press in.

There was no hesitation this time. He slid in gloriously, letting out a sighing moan at the feel, before pulling back just as slow. He had both hands on Bens hips and he couldn’t help but grasp his fingers in tighter when he looked up and saw Ben gripping the car with his hands, his cheek pressed firmly into the bonnet with his mouth open and eyes rolling. He was trying to turn his head back the best he could to see and watch Callum.

Moving one of his hands, he squeezed the cheek of Ben’s arse reverently before, moving his fingers and rubbing them reverentially on his back. His long leisurely strokes were becoming a little faster now, not able to restrain himself with the lower pace, and he started grunting a little as Ben’s body slid higher up the car.

Leaning over for a minute, he covered Ben’s body with his own, linking their fingers together on the bonnet, and just rocking his hips in gentle thrusts as he kissed and whispered caressed words in Ben’s ear. He wanted him to know how he felt, and everything he did feel.

Straightening himself back up, he started to thrust back in slowly again, long and deep and he heard Ben curse repeatedly, his nails scratching down the green paintwork. Callum did the same again, but then he felt Ben’s muscles tighten around him, squeeze and torment him, as the man said his name and cursed again. He had to let go. He sped up now, snapping his hips in and gripping Ben tight. The light was dimming around them, as if creating a spotlight just for them and he grunted a couple of times before coming, leaning back forward and kissing Ben on his back, just pressing his lips really, just brushing them.

They stayed that way for a moment, just their huffed breaths floating away freely into the air. Callum caught sight of them in the slight reflection of the windscreen. They both looked wrecked and shattered, but not broken. They looked whole.

Callum stretched up with a wince, the pain in his side starting to come back. He pulled himself out of Ben and they both hissed, before staggering to the car door. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a packet of tissues he found there. He took one out for himself, before throwing them towards Ben, not helping but to smile at the large red mark he had on his cheek from being pressed onto the car.

Callum wiped himself down before pulling his jeans back on and shuffling back over to the tarpaulin, hauling himself down with a grimace. He lay his head down, letting his body come down from its exertion. When Ben joined him a few minutes later, resting his head on his chest, Callum felt that he could probably never move again. He didn’t see why he would need to.

“I don’t care if an angry farmer starts running at us with a pitch fork,” he mumbled out into Callum’s shirt. “I ain’t moving after that shag. Who knew strawberries and headlights together would be able to get me off like that.”

“Uh, excuse me, do I not get any credit here?” Callum replied, tickling Ben’s cheek with his fingers.

The chuckle vibrated into his chest. “You most definitely do. You ain’t half a quick learner, I’ll give you that,” he replied, his voice sleepy. “Let’s just stay here, yeah?”

“What, forever?” Callum asked jokingly. Only it wasn’t a joke. He didn’t want it to be a joke. “We could do up the old house, get the farm working.”

Ben lifted his head slightly, and looked at him with a frown. “What exactly are we supposed to farm? If you think I’m digging up spuds all day, or trying to kick sheep around a field, then you’ve got another thing coming!”

“People farm all sorts of things nowadays, don’t they?” he mused. “Like those alpaca things.”

“What, those small llamas? Those things that chase after you, spit and glare? If I wanted that reaction, I’d go into your local,” Ben replied, rubbing up and down Callum’s side soothingly. “I ain’t chasing after a fucking llama at six o’clock every morning! What do you even farm them for? Milk?”

Callum shrugged. “I think they use their wool, don’t they? I don’t think you eat them.”

“Oh well that’s fantastic!” Ben chuckled. “I’m going to have to belt up and down a field after this thing and won’t know whether I need to squeeze it’s nipples, give it a short, back and sides or hit it over the head with a rake!”

“You can farm what you want,” Callum said, trying not to let the daydream set in too solidly. “Or you could just have the land, renovate the house and just enjoy the space.”

“We’re city boys anyway,” Ben replied. “I don’t know how we’d cope with all this fresh air and galloping alpacas into the sunset. Would this really feel like home?”

If you were there, Callum thought. Anywhere you were would be home.

They had finished off the cake and cider, hunger setting in a little, before settling back down and just dozing on the tarpaulin in silence. It was late when they decided to leave, the stars high over their head and the moon a long way into its work.

Callum refused to let go on Ben’s hand as they made their way back to the car, throwing the cloth back in the boot. Even when they had to separate to get back in, Callum put his hand on Ben’s knee as soon as he had got his belt on, keeping it there for the entire journey.

As Ben pulled into Canning Town and slowed down to park, the request that had been sticking in Callum’s head finally had to make its way out. It couldn’t be ignored from either of them anymore. “Stay,” he said, gripping Ben’s chin and turning it towards him. “Don’t leave.”

“I have to go,” Ben replied, leaning into Callum’s touch. “I can’t stay here, I can’t stay in Walford. You were never part of the plan. It was always to get the money for Steve, and put some aside for me so I could get away from here. No one wants me around here, I’ve made sure of that.”

“I want you here,” Callum said, leaning forward so their foreheads were together. It was like all his emotions were escaping as freely as his tears were now, let loose from their confines and cages. “I need you here. Stay with me. I love you.”

Ben leaned back a little, his eyes darting over Callum’s face, questioning. “Come with me then,” he offered, planting a kiss to Callum’s forehead. “Leave and come with me.”

Callum was a little taken aback. “I’ve got my job, and the army,” he explained, the excuse coming out in a stammer, the fear being let free too, just to reel him back in a little. “I don’t know if I can leave Judy and Stu; they need me.”

“What if I need you more?” Ben asked, his tone hopeful. “Look, I ain’t about to put you on the spot. That ain’t fair. I’m not going to mess with your head. I’m gonna leave tomorrow, if you want to come with me then meet me here at midday, yeah?”

“I do want to come with you,” he said, the decision starting to creep in and settle itself. “I do.”

Ben nodded. “Then be here tomorrow,” he said. “If you ain’t, then I know you’ve changed your mind.”

“I’ll never change my mind about you,” Callum said, leaning forward and giving him a chaste kiss. “I know I want you. I’ve never been more certain about anything. I’ll be here.”

When Callum got out the car, he watched Ben drive off until he was just an emerald dot in the distance. He didn’t go straight home, wandering around, thinking through Ben’s request in his head. The more and more he thought about it, the more certain he was that it was the right choice to make. It was certainly the one he wanted. As he scuffed his way around Canning Town, the sirens blaring and drunks singing, he knew it was the right one. Nobody needed him around here.

The sun was just peaking its way over the horizon, the softest lemon gleam, as Callum turned onto the estate. It was a new day, and one he knew would change his life.

As he got nearer the flats, the growing yellow brightness of the sun was met with a flash of blues and reds, as silent sirens swirled around the courtyard and emergency vehicles scattered the area. There was a large stripe of yellow tape across part of the building, as the residents peeked across it, their noses in the air to sniff out the gossip.

He knew. As he walked closer and closer, his footsteps scuffing and scraping the bitter grey ground, he knew. There was still that twilight of hope though, still that glimmer of dust and sparkle where perhaps it wasn’t true. Until he heard it, it couldn’t be true. These small few seconds where his mind was stuck between hope and despair. He knew which one always won.

Callum didn’t even realise his brother was there until he felt a hand on his shoulder. It gripped him comfortingly and he knew. The little yellow sparkle was fading with every second, and when Stuart spoke, it fluttered away forever.

“Mate, I’m so sorry. It’s Judy. She’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Judy https://youtu.be/UzyPMRo8ZUQ?t=56
> 
> @blueangel0909 on twitter
> 
> @moodyblueangel on tumblr
> 
> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading xx


	15. The Rainbow

There was that nip to the air, that fleshing chill that only ever occurred before dawn had truly arrived. Callum felt it encase his skin, wrinkle and bump it, whip and chafe it in anger and sully. It was all that kept him anchored, it was the only sensation that he was feeling that told him that this couldn’t be a dream. That this was real. It didn’t feel real yet though, the fact that Judy was gone. Even when Stuart carefully led him inside the flat, it didn’t sink in. His brain didn’t want to believe what his eyes hadn’t seen.

It was the hollowness inside, that familiar feeling that announced grief’s arrival. The first sign that she would start to submerge you in her mist, forcing your head under until you didn’t know how to breath. That was how it was with his grandad. It was just the emptiness as first. But nothingness was a quiet assassin, creeping up behind your shoulder and wrapping its thick fingers around your throat. You don’t even notice until it’s strangling you, wiping the life out a moment at a time.

It wasn’t as though Callum hadn’t gone weeks, and sometimes months without speaking to his grandad. It was the fact that now he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to, that consumed him. There was no way, no avenue or path that would lead to him there. And that was fine at times. Life seemed normal. But then he’d see a goal on Match of the Day, or hear a song that he only remembered his grandad singing, and it would flood back. Not in a trickle or stream, but as if a dam had broken and the cold, icy water hit his body with the sting of a thousand lashes.

The worst moment was one December, strolling around Tesco and picking up some bits for the Christmas cupboard. Callum was so engaged with humming along to the jiggling carols being played that his hand just worked instinctively, picking up a little box of Turkish delight and placing it in his basket. It wasn’t until he reached the cheese aisle that he realised that he hated it, so did everyone else in his family. The floral notes lingering on his tongue felt like he was grazing on a rose tree. There was only one person who used to devour the treat, just one person that he used to pick a box up for every year. Grandad. It overwhelmed him then. Grief had struck him hard with a punch to the ribs, and he ended up sobbing into a wheel of blue cheese. Callum just wanted to hear his laugh, as it echoed in his mind, fading and lowering in volume with each passing day.

It was the same with Judy now as it had been with his Grandad. It just didn’t feel like she was gone. It just felt like she wasn’t there right now. The freshness of the memories playing tricks on his brain that finality wasn’t an option at the moment. It was like a perfect white feather fluttering across the path. There was evidence of the bird, but it’s breathing blood and soul weren’t in view.

There was nothing to do. Nothing. Callum just sat on his sofa, as the breakfast news started to play out at a low level on the television. All the stories of horror and pain didn’t seem as harsh as they usually did though. He was numb to them, not able to process the darkness of the rest of the world when it seemed the blackest cloud was hanging over his head. Stuart was still there, and Callum picked up on bits and pieces of his waffled chat. He heard, but he didn’t listen.

At some point during the morning, his dad dragged himself up from his bedroom, sniffing and coughing into his palm. There was a clear snarl on his face as his eyes met Callum, and he shuffled noisily into the kitchen. Callum could just about make out the lowered voices, but not the words. Stuart would have told him about Judy, in perhaps some faint hope that it would promote sympathy from the older man. It predictably didn’t, and Jonno returned to the lounge, his black eye rotting on his face, heaving himself down into his arm chair with a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

They both just sat there in thunderous silence. For some people, they would prefer that atmosphere, than to be charging around their home, dodging being struck with a pipe. That wasn’t Callum though, not with the memories he had. When he was little, there were times when his dad would ignore him for days, not speaking or even looking his way. It was after Callum had done something that would annoy him, a small act that would raise his rage and cause an explosive fallout. The silence would follow. He would just be alone. There would be days that he never got to speak to a single soul. At some points he wondered whether he actually even existed at all.

Eventually Callum couldn’t bare the silence any longer, the only sounds being his dad slurping on his tea, or an occasional muttering by Stuart. He got up from the sofa and went into his room, his body hitting the mattress with a loud groan of the springs. His eyes glanced at the time. It was just hitting ten o’clock. It was only two hours before he agreed to running away with Ben.

It all seemed a dream now he was sitting here. There wasn’t anything that he could touch and grab and hold on to with his hands. There was no evidence that any of it had been real. It was a laughing whisper of a hope, only that giggled and mocked him for even suggesting that it could be his life. Callum could pack a bag now and be out the door in ten minutes, never looking back and pretending that this place never existed.

That’s what he always did though. Callum always chose to run away. He kicked sand over the problem, and hoped that his legs could carry him far enough away before it dug itself out. When his grandad had started to get ill, he’d pretended it wasn’t happening, and ran off to the army. He was still ill when he got back, but was now even worse. Callum had made it worse. He broke everything around him. Look at Judy.

Nothing with Ben had felt like a choice. It had always been like he had been thrown into it, fighting all the way, and trying to run, only to be pulled back. He couldn’t help it, to be pulled further and further into his path. He had a choice now though. Either he ran away from here, or he stayed and sorted out the mess he had created

There was a creak at the door, and Stuart poked his head around with a faded smile. “How you doin’?” he asked, rocking to and fro on his heels, like he couldn’t decide whether to come in or not.

Callum didn’t answer. He just picked up and started fiddling with the crumpled paper bag that was still on his bed. Empty now, it’s contents littered and scattered, just a shell for what it once contained.

Stuart didn’t take the hint that Callum wanted to just be alone. He came in and perched himself onto the bed, giving his brother an caring pat on the leg. “I think we need to go round to The Harrisons, pay our respects to Judy’s mum,” he said, quietly, as though Callum were a bird who might just flutter away.

Callum shook his head firmly. It was a ghoulish task, to turn up at a flat you had barely been in and impose yourself on a grieving mother. “No, we ain’t doing it,” he replied decisively.

“Mate, I know you’re hurting, but it’s what we do around here, ain’t it,” he replied, with a nod, as if that were convincing enough. “When Grandad went, there were lots around our flat in those few days after.”

There was a slight tone in his voice, a small bitterness to convey the hidden meaning there. Callum had disappeared for those three days, leaving Stuart to deal with everything. A lot of it was in anger at being alone when Grandad passed, but if he was honest, it was also taking the easy way out. Stuart hadn’t answered his phone that night, but Callum knew he would have been there if he had realised. He punished his brother by disappearing, but also it gave him an out, to not to have to deal with everyone and their dog turning up and the house and offer their vacant sympathies. Those people who hadn’t been to see Grandad in years, were able to take the time to come to the flat and have a cup of tea, and then drag themselves in their maudlin best to the funeral and wake, gnawing on a pink wafer and a pickled onion, and sharing stories from lifetimes before.

Callum nodded reluctantly. It was what you did in Canning Town. It was what you did around here. You spoke about people behind their back, screamed blue murder at them in a bar but the moment they kicked the bucket you turned up at their house with a cheap sympathy card and a bunch of flowers that will have browned by the next day. As if the relative needed more of a reminder of death, of something so beautiful rotting right in front of their eyes.

Stuart gave him another clap on the leg. “Right, well I’m just gonna pop down the newsagent. Meet me outside in ten minutes yeah?” he said, getting up off the bed. He looked around Callum’s room. The space which was always perfect, had always been pristine and polished. Now though, there were clothes staggered on the floor, records out of their sleeves and beer cans littered around.

Stuart looked back at him, narrowing his eyes and opening his mouth like he wanted to say something. He changed his mind though and left through the door, the squeak signalling his exit. This didn’t feel like his room anymore, it didn’t feel like it used to. It used to be a place that he locked himself in, a neutral standing where none of the badness of the world got in, but then none of the goodness did either. Now though, there were tainted memories scattered about.

The wallpaper had a new patterned amber layer, whiskey fumes still cascading off the drops that were stuck there. Callum thought that he had hoovered up all the glass, but every now and then a sparkle would catch his eye, a small glint shining from the carpet, a fierce and biting reminder ready and laying in wait to bite its prey.

There were more memories that had creeped in the room. He still hadn’t changed the sheets on his bed, these creased and sodden covers that were rumpled under his body. Callum couldn’t look around this room without seeing Ben, without his influence stamped in the space. It was like a whirlwind had burst in and taken his breath away before leaving him alone to deal with fallout, the debris ruched and rocketed across his path. The high of the thrill and danger, countered by the despair and ache of the low. At this moment, all Callum wanted was the familiar numbness back that surrounded him before all of this started.

Stuart gave a sharp rap on the Harrison’s door, while holding a box with his other hand. Callum leaned back on the rail. He’d never been inside Judy’s flat before, only hovered outside when he had walked her home. It was an hour and a half until he said he’d meet Ben. There was time to make his choice. Still time.

The door swung open and they were met with a harsh stare, broken eyes that forced the owner’s mouth into a polite smile. It was all part of the routine; he couldn’t imagine that Judy’s mum wanted anyone here right now, yet she had to entertain a stream of people, none of whom she cared to see. “We’re really sorry about your loss, Mrs Harrison,” Stuart said, before lingering. There wasn’t much else to say, apart from waiting to be invited in.

She didn’t say anything in response, but did nod a confirmation and stepped back a little to let them in the door past her. Callum small a little smile as he went by, not knowing what to say. There was nothing to say.

They walked through to the lounge, with its floral settee and matching chairs speckled around on a delicate mint carpet. It was a bare room, just a small television in the corner, and a few personal items on the mantel. There were vases of flowers around the room though, some containing real buds and some fake bunches, but all presenting their white petals hanging on their stalks.

“I’m glad you’re here, Callum,” she said, offering them both a seat. “Judy spoke very highly of you. I know you were friendly with her.”

“We was, we were friends,” he said, and the tense got stuck in his throat when it flowed so naturally from his mind. It was sinking in, but he didn’t want it to. “She was a lovely girl.”

“I don’t know how many would say that around here,” Mrs Harrison replied, a sense an anger just appearing in her tone. “I appreciate you both coming though.”

Callum wasn’t sure if she was, perhaps the fact that it was someone that knew Judy a little actually helped. Stuart slid a box of Newberry Fruits and a card over the table, and Mrs Harrison barely glanced at them. Trust his brother to pick up a gift that suggested more ‘Merry Christmas Nan’ than ‘I’m sorry that your only daughter has died’. To be fair, there wasn’t a gift that really could say that. There never should be.

“Our dad sends his sympathies,” Stuart continued, as he and Callum sat knee to knee on the sofa. “He’s sorry he couldn’t make it round today.”

“Does he?” Mrs Harrison replied. Her eyes didn’t seem here, not really in the room, but Callum could see them tighten up at the mention of Jonno. Callum remembered what Judy said, about how her mum knew his a long time ago. He had a hundred questions, but knew he couldn’t ask now. He knew it was the wrong time. “I’m sure he’ll make it to the wake to down a few pints in her name though, won’t he?

There was a carriage clock sitting on the mantle, one with faded silver and Roman Numerals instead of numbers, and once he heard that first tick, he couldn’t unhear it. They were just relentless in his brain, each one chipping at the bone of his skull. It was an hour exactly before he had to meet Ben. He could make it on time easily. They wouldn’t stay here too long, wouldn’t outstay their welcome. There was plenty of time to make a choice.

“You can go into her room if you like, Callum,” Mrs Harrison told him. He didn’t know if he wanted to, if he wanted to go through that door. There was none of Judy in this room though, nothing that would suggest that she even lived here and existed at all. He didn’t want to disappoint her mum, so he nodded and stood up, heading in the direction she pointed.

It turned out that he didn’t need the directions to find her room. There was a little sign on the door, a small wooden block that was engraved with a squirrel and her name is calligraphy letters. The sides were splintered and worn and there were marks on the wood. This wasn’t a recent accompaniment. It had obviously been there for quite some time, and surrounding the sign was a mixture of stickers and labels, everything from little round apple stickers to small silver stars. It was such a contrast to the rest of the house.

He pushed the door open carefully and it gave a squeak. The room wasn’t big, probably the same size as his own. It was dark, the only light coming through the curtains. They were blue with dolphins on, their snouts bursting out the water and frying free. There were a few posters on the wall; some bands, a few celebrities he didn’t really recognise.

Callum sat on the bed. It had been made, with perfect edges, the pillows plumped and the airy sea spray scent of Febreze wafted through the air. Mrs Harrison must have made it, it was too sterile and perfect and didn’t fit the rest of the room. If he perched on it, then he couldn’t see it.

There was a chest of drawers in front of him, laden with a host of bottles and containers, tubs and jars of all shapes and sizes. There were a thousand different smells permeating off the collection, each like a different spice, with sweet and sour, floral and fresh all mixed in together.

There were clothes dotted on the ground, left there after use; a silver dress, a black and green top, a gingham skirt, all connected by some tights, weaving their way through the gaps like snakes. He had a desire to pick them up, to brush them off and hang them up in the wardrobe ready to be worn. They never quite suited her, never quite made sense with her clothes, like she was wearing a costume in a play to try and convince the audience of her character. Callum wondered where the blue dress was, the one that she had worn the last time he saw her. He didn’t really want to find out.

There was something else that caught his eye in the room; an old stereo with a double tape deck in the front. He got up off the bed and wandered over to the shelf. Next to the old machine there was a Walkman, the headphones tangled up to pieces, and stacks of tapes towered next to it. His feet hit a box below, revealing even more cassettes. Mostly shop bought, but there were a few pillars of blank tapes with a simple label on them. They all had names written on, some of which Callum recognised, some of which they didn’t. One of them caught his eye though.

Holding the tapes above it carefully, he slipped his nail in and shuffled the case out carefully with his finger. He ran his thumb over the ink, tracing each letter of his own name. Turning it over, there was nothing listed on the blank space for the track list, just his own name peering back at him through the transparent case, as another label adorned the cassette inside.

Sitting back down on the bed, he began turning the tape over in his hands, wondering what it contained, wondering if there was anything on it at all. It looked the same as every other tape she had on the shelf, but maybe inside it was a little different. Perhaps inside it would give away its meaning.

Callum didn’t hear the door being pushed open a little more. “Judy was always making those tapes for people, putting on songs they might like. She never gave them away though. She never could bring herself to share that part of her feelings with anyone. I think she was afraid they’d laugh, or maybe she just wanted those thoughts to herself,” the woman said, as she came and perched on the bed, looking around sadly. “You can have that if you want.”

“Are you sure?” he said, gripping it tightly. “I don’t want to take something you’d like to keep.”

“No, dear,” she replied, looking around the room as if it all held new meaning and purpose now. “I’m gonna pack it all up this afternoon; the boys are gonna come round and take it all down the charity shop later.”

Callum paused a little. He hated to think that this space would be gone, that this last part of Judy would be hurled away and scattered everywhere, labelled for people to buy without knowing the story and person who cared and loved. “Ain’t that a bit soon?” he asked, though he felt maybe it was a bit of an imposition, that he stepped over the line. “Don’t you wanna hang onto it all for a while?”

The woman next to him didn’t seem to be offended though. She didn’t seem to be anything. Judy’s mum was always known as a fierce woman, one that you wouldn’t cross even on her best day. She just seemed like a shell sitting here, as small as her frame suggested. “They never tell you what to do in this time,” she said, and Callum frowned in confusion at her meaning. “When someone dies, and they take them away and you’re just left. There’s no death certificate yet, so I can’t get going on the funeral, not that I’m looking forward to arranging that either. I’ve just got to sit here. They never tell you about this part. I can’t just keep sitting here looking, Callum.”

“Well, thank you for this,” he said, waving the cassette, knowing there was nothing that he could say. “I don’t even know what would be on it.”

“You can have the little portable player as well,” she said, nodding towards the Walkman. “One of her brothers will take the stereo, but no one will want the small one. Not nowadays. I got her that for her birthday when she was only little.”

“Well she obviously loved it very much,” Callum offered.

“I know it wasn’t easy for her, what with Mr Harrison being away a lot,” she remarked. Callum nodded. He knew what going away meant around here. Usually a six to eighteen month stretch in Her Majesty’s finest establishment. “Even when he was here…well, everyone found it difficult to adapt. Judy was very strong willed, she took after me in that way. Mr Harrison was a little more old fashioned in how he expected us to behave in the home.”

“Judy knew her own mind,” he said. Callum knew that Judy’s dad wasn’t around anymore, hadn’t been for a while. There was nothing more to say about that, as he knew too well.

Mrs Harrison gave a wry laugh. “Oh she knew it too well, that was the problem,” she replied. “They weren’t great friends with each other, Judy and her mind. I probably didn’t help a lot either. I just wanted what was best for her, to make sure she made the right choices. I probably pushed her too much in the direction I thought she should be going. I probably didn’t listen to her enough. Those boys she kept straggling around with didn’t help. Not you, dear. The other ones. Especially that lowlife from the Co-op. He did a real number on her.”

There was a little knock on the door, and Stuart poked his head around, and looked at Callum expectantly. “We should probably go,” Callum said standing up. He went over and took the Walkman off the shelf. “Thank you so much for this, I’ll look after it.”

“You can come back whenever you want, Callum,” she offered, still sitting on the bed. “I’m on my own here now; it’ll be nice to chat.”

He just gave a simple nod before he and Stuart headed out the door, leaving the woman alone with her thoughts. Leaving her alone. Callum glanced at his watch as they left the flat. It was half an hour before he went to meet Ben. Half an hour before he made a choice that would change everything.

“What does that moron want?” Stuart said suddenly, drawing Callum out of his thoughts. He looked across to where his brother was looking. Mo was skulking across the courtyard wearing a suit and carrying a bunch of roses.

There was a switch that flicked in Callum at the sight of him, but he managed to carefully put the tape and Walkman down on the wall before sprinting over, and pulling his arm back, his fist making contact with the other man’s face. The flowers were thrust into the air, the petals cascading around them like rain as they were decapitated from their stems.

Mo couldn’t regain his balance and fell to the ground, holding his hand up over his face to defend himself as Callum drew his arm back again, not done with his anger. Not nearly finished. Before his hand could reach the other man’s face though, he was pulled back, Stuart getting a grip on him.

“He ain’t worth it, Bruv!” he yelled out, gripping on to Callum’s arm. It was restrained for Stuart, usually his brother didn’t need much reason for a punch up. “Just let him be.”

“Where you off to, eh?” Callum shouted back, unable to free himself from the grip. “Off to see your fancy girlfriend?”

“No!” Mo said, finally standing up when he felt that Callum wasn’t going to launch himself again. “I’m off to see Judy’s mum, and pay my respects. I was going to bring her some flowers, but I can’t do that now, can I?”

“Yeah that would have made all the difference!” Callum bit back. “I’m sorry I helped cause the death of your daughter, Mrs Harrison, but here’s some cheap roses I got from the reduced aisle at work! Sorry I can’t stay long, I’ve nicked a few packets of seafood sticks from work which I can sell off to get my cock sucked!' Was that what you were gonna say?"

“Oh come off it, Callum!” Mo said, holding his hand towards his face, and checking to see if he was bleeding. He was. A trickle made its way from his nose to his mouth, and Callum wished it would flood out. “You can’t blame me for this! Plenty of blokes break up with a woman all the time!”

“You messed her about, Mo!” he shouted back, and he was sure he saw a few curtains twitch out of the corner of her eye. “You gave her hope that it would all work out and then dropped her for your posh bird!”

“It ain’t my fault if she was too mixed up in the head to take a bit of rejection. A girl like that should be used to it,” he muttered back, flinching when Callum started to move forward. “It ain’t just at my door! I’m sure there’s plenty of guys who never met her when they said they would, who just used her for their own purpose, who made her promises that they didn’t keep. She had a lifetime of that.”

“Mrs Harrison don’t want you there,” Callum spat back out, flinging his arm out of Stuart’s grip. “She don’t want you at the funeral neither!”

Mo brushed himself down a little, and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “You can take it out on me all you want, Callum,” he said, starting to stagger away. “But don’t make out that you did all you could.”

Callum felt his breath stagger as he watched the man walk away, his mind pushing him to run after him, to smash his face into the ground until this feeling went away. There was a hand on his shoulder. “Mate, don’t listen to him,” Stuart whispered. “It weren’t no ones fault. You was away with the army a lot, yeah. Well Judy went away a few times too when she was younger, her mum was telling me about it when you was in the bedroom. This weren’t something that happened overnight. What could you have done?”

It was rhetorical, the question that was supposed to make him feel better, to help him settle and take away the guilt that was lurking. It only served to do the opposite though, and remind Callum of what he hadn’t done. He had said he was going to see Judy after work, and that had been playing on his brain for hours now. He didn’t text her, or call to say he couldn’t make it. Callum had forgotten about her, just like everyone else had done.

It wasn’t just that, he knew how she felt about not working and having the interview for a job that she didn’t want to do anyway. He didn’t know how it went, he didn’t know if she got the job or not or where she went afterwards. Callum knew he had let her down yesterday, and now he had no opportunity to make it up to her.

The intention had been there, he was going to go to work, do his shift and then call her, go meet her. He’d let Ben wander into his mind, to distract him from everything else, and then this had happened. If he had just been strong, done what he knew he should have, then maybe she’d still be here. Mo was right. It was on him. This was all down to him

Callum had made one small selfish choice and the world had fallen down. It was more than a warning, it was a stark and ferocious threat and punishment. The last grain of sand was falling from the timer, letting him know it was time to choose. This time he made a different one; he wouldn’t run away from the disaster he had caused.

There weren’t many wakes held at The Pig. Callum imagined that on the most painful day of some people’s lives, they didn’t want to make it any worse by holding the aftermath in a place so devoid of humanity.

The pub was decked out as it usually was for a party, just without the wilting banners and balloons that accompanied a celebration. Dogger’s nephew was still there though, playing music out as if it were a school disco, and there was a table laden with crumbly quiches, soggy scotch eggs and wrinkled cocktail sausages, next to a stack of flimsy paper plates

There were vases of flowers around though, mixing the clawing floral scent with the deep bitterness and stale linger of the ale. They must have been at Mrs Harrison’s request, because they were drooping their white petals around the room.

Judy’s mum had come in for one drink, downing whatever it was quickly, before heading home with her family. She had seemed vacant during the service, her eyes glazed as she clung on to one of her sons when she walked into the church. It was as if she wasn’t really there, her face constantly just staring into space. Callum knew she must have taken something, probably a combination of a few things, whatever would get her through the day. Sometimes it was better to feel nothing, than feel anything. Safer.

Thankfully, Mo seemed to heed his warning and stay away. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case for those that did invite themselves along, a few to the service, but most just coming along to the wake, slapping on a black suit that had been pulled in and out their wardrobe for every celebration and commiseration for the past thirty years. Just so they could gorge on a few bits of pungent cheese and sharp pineapple on a stick, and claim a drink from the money that was out behind the bar from the family. They would voluntarily enter a place or sorrow and sadness just for a few scraps, like screeching hyenas around a carcass.

There was a cackle of laughter from the corner, as Dogger, Alan, Chunky and his dad sat around sipping their free drinks, all encased in their charcoal clothing with loose ties and shirts untucked. It was no difference to them, it was as if it was just any other day. The only change was the background noise; it wasn’t the commentator’s voice streaming from the television, but the eighties pop that was rattling out at a low level through the tinny speakers on the sound system.

Callum swirled the remnants of his pint around in his glass, and looked at his phone. There was nothing, and he didn’t know what he was expecting. When he had gone home the week before after visiting Judy’s mum, he watched the time tick over to midday; he expected to feel a freedom, proud of his choice, and for everything to feel that it would be okay in time.

It didn’t though, it felt far from it, and Callum scrabbled around in the back of the wardrobe and clawed out the light black jacket that he had put there when Ben had left it behind the first night he had stayed over. All he wanted to do was run out the door and head to the High Street; Ben could still be there, he wouldn’t have driven away at twelve on the dot. He could even have text Ben, tell him to wait or come back. It wouldn’t take him five minutes to throw a bag together and run down there.

He didn’t do any of those though. He just crawled under his covers, holding the jacket to him as his eyes and body sobbed together consolingly and furiously. The whole situation with Ben could definitely just be a dream now; no one around here knew the full extent of it, apart from Steve knowing a little. His father wouldn’t acknowledge it, that was certain. If Callum never mentioned Ben again, then neither would Jonno, even while the bruise still lingered on his face. Eventually he would start talking to Callum, and it would never be mentioned, the fact that he had walked in on them in bed together. It would be forgotten, but certainly not forgiven.

Stuart wouldn’t mention it either. As much as he was loathed to admit it sometimes, the male members of his family were all more than capable of pretending things didn’t happen. Their mother was never spoken about, their grandad was only mentioned in brief, they never talked about the army, they never talked about Stuart’s time in prison and they would never mention this. It would be hidden away, another knick knack shoved on the shelf to cover in dust.

Judy was the only one who knew, who really knew and understood him and Ben. Now she was gone, and it felt like it was all made up in his head. Another one of Halfway’s stupid daydreams. In time, he could convince himself that none of it ever happened, despite the memory of those feelings to flooding through his veins. It was like everyone around him would just persuade him that it couldn’t be true. This one jacket, just the material held against his nose, was the only reminder.

Callum had just laid there until the next morning, cuddled up as the memories faded. It was the right choice to come back here; it had to be.

Now though, sitting at the bar and looking at his phone, he wished Ben would call, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. He had spent the last week looking at his mobile, hoping for the same thing to happen. Callum knew he couldn’t complain about it, couldn’t blame anyone but himself. What would he say even if he did call? He ruined it. Ben was right, he just broke everything in sight. At least that was one consolation; he wouldn’t end up ruining Ben.

There was a pat of his hand, just a brief brush to get him back into the pub, to get his mind centred. “How you doing?” Steve asked, pouring him out another pint and sliding it across the bar. “Holding up alright?”

Callum just nodded. He didn’t know how to answer the question, so the lie came more naturally. There was a piece of paper that Steve slid across the bar to him, with a bright background and bold words. Callum glanced his eyes over it for a few seconds, a small smile as he realised what it was. “You’ve got the flyers done for the new place already? Before you’ve closed the doors here? You ain’t worried this lot will find out?”

“I really ain’t, Callum,” he replied. “They aren’t anything to be afraid of, they aren’t worth hiding anything over. That why I’m making the new bar in the first place. Bring everything out into the light. We shouldn’t be skulking in the darkness. Any of us. Did you see the name I’ve given the bar?

Callum ran his finger over the large, bold, red font that spelt out the name ‘Judy’s’ and he wished she was here to see it. “I think it’s the best choice,” he replied, his heart cracking with the contrast of happiness and pain. It was just a sting though.

“Well, you was a package deal, weren’t you?” Steve said with a soft voice. “This way, she’ll always be here, so you have to come back to visit at some point, won’t you?”

Callum looked back at him with the shake of his head. “What you talking about? I’ll be behind the bar most nights, won’t I?”

It had left his mind a little, the job that Steve offered him. Partly because he realised he never let Judy know she had a guaranteed job to come to, at somewhere she might enjoy, with people that would appreciate her.

“Mate, you shouldn’t be here,” Steve said, holding onto his arm. “Tell me what you feel now, right now. How do you feel?"

Callum shrugged back. It wasn’t the easiest sensation to put into words as he looked around at the bar he was sitting in. The lies didn’t fall off his tongue this time, so he did something that wasn’t always his natural response. He told the truth. “I don’t feel anything.”

Steve drew his eyes over Callum’s face, as though he were checking, picking up on the honesty there. “Then you shouldn’t be here,” he concluded. “You shouldn’t be anywhere that doesn’t bring you to life. I know you, in your head you think all that pain and anger is wrong. But with lows, you get the highs, and with both you know you’re alive. You don’t even look like you’re here, Callum.”

There was a truth to Steve’s words and he knew it. It was like he had been brought to life after years of waiting; his mind had been switched on, his heart had been started, and daring had been flooded through his body. He still remembered the feeling like a whisper, still craved it and tried to corner out the tiny droplets in his body like the last specks of champagne left in the glass.

Now though, he was buried under a mound of dirt, not even a gap of light from the other world coming through. He couldn’t breathe like he remembered, he couldn’t see or hear like he remembered, and there was nothing surrounding his body, just the increasing suffocation tightening around him.

“Do you blame me? Around here? I mean just look at this place! No offence, mate,” he replied, but Steve waved away the insult. He more than anyone knew what it was like. “I mean, look at these flowers? They’re half dead, they’re plain and they look like-“

“They belong at a funeral?” Steve interrupted, with a raise of his eyebrows. “They don’t suit her, do they?”

Callum shook his head, before something stirred a little in him, a spark and an idea. He tightened his tie around his grey shirt, before leaning back and fishing around in the jacket pocket that hung on the stool next to him. His hand hit a plastic container, before he found his wallet. Shoving it in his trousers, he started to head towards the door. “I won’t be long!”

Once he reached the air of the street, he accelerated into a slight jog at his haste to make it to the shop down the road. He didn’t know why this was important, why once the thought hit his head it was something he couldn’t ignore, but he knew that it was. He knew.

Once he reached the store, he pushed the door open and the bell gave a short ding. The attendant turned around, snipping some green stalks with some scissors and gave him a smile. “Hello, Callum, my love,” she said, barely visible over the mountain of blooms. “How’s your brother?”

Callum squinted at her a little. “Yeah, he’s fine thanks, Cheryl,” he said quickly, not wanting to be distracted by the job at hand. “Do you have any sunflowers?”

She seemed a little taken aback by the sudden request. “Yeah, we have a few out the back,” she replied. “How many do you want?”

Callum pulled out his wallet and fished around in the pocket, sliding out the note that was squeezed in there. He unfolded it and held it in front of Cheryl’s face. “Around fifty quid’s worth?”

“All on sunflowers?” she asked with astoundment, stepping out the back and bringing through a large bucket. “You don’t want anything else? I’ve got some nice yellow chrysanthemums or red geraniums, if you’d like?”

“No, just sunflowers,” he replied quickly. “As many as you can get together.”

Cheryl started to wrap them up, before looking back at him. “Is this for that young girl? I heard it was her funeral today,” she mentioned. Callum just nodded. “Well, have them on me then, love. They wouldn’t last much longer anyway. I won’t take your money.”

Callum smiled at her broadly. “Are you sure?” he said, bundling up the bunches in his arms. She gave a smile and a pat to his arm. “Thank you so much!”

There was more of a purpose in his step than there had been all week, more of a spark that lifted though him. Not a lot, just a glimmer of light through the soil.

When he kicked open the door to the bar, he received a plethora of scowls, frowns and wide eyed stares, his face barely visible through the excess of flowers that he had hauled up. He carefully laid them on the bar, reaching into his jacket pocket.

He went over to the sound system, clicking a few buttons until Lionel Richie’s voice faded from the air. He opened the cassette case, pulling out the tape and snapping it into the deck, giving it a good shove and pressing play.

He hadn’t listened to it before now. He hadn’t wanted to. Now though, as the first song rang out and covered this place of darkness in light, he felt bathed in it.

It was barely a few seconds before he realised what the tune was, and it almost shook Callum to his core. It was the song he’d heard in Leigh-on-Sea with his Grandad and Mr Marcus all those years ago. It was the one he heard with Ben, just a short time before, and it felt almost too coincidental, almost too convenient until he remembered when he had played it and heard it in recent months.

The time he invited Judy over, trying to pretend he was something he wasn’t and she’d seen through it, called him out on it and not let him go through with it. She had accepted him for what he was, and he didn’t even remember intentionally putting this song on. He couldn’t hear it that day, not over the noise of his pain. It wasn’t the song that made the moments happy. It was the people he was with.

With a smile on his face, he set about putting the flowers into the vases. Stuart followed behind him, arranging them with more care than he ever could. When he got the vase by the window, he could hear the conversation stop, just a tittering as he placed the bright yellow flowers in the vase.

“What’s that you got there, Callum?” Chunky called out, a hint of malice in his voice. “You getting your fist around a few pansies are you?”

It just clicked then. That one comment, no more hurtful than any other he had heard over the years, probably less so, in fact. He didn’t want to run away from this one though. He didn’t want to hide anymore, and he didn’t want to smile while they littered insult after insult. He was tired of this, all of this, and he couldn’t let himself be buried any further or he might never be able to dig himself out.

“No, they’re sunflowers actually,” he said, turning to face the table in front of him. “They’re Judy’s favourites. That’s why you’re all here, ain’t it? I’m the only pansy in this place.”

There was a drop in Jonno’s expression, a sudden fall of his mouth, like he could sense what Callum was about to do.

“You know we’re only joking, lad, “Dogger spluttered out, the flaky crumbs of pastry from a sausage roll splattering everywhere. “We know you ain’t one of that lot. Seems we’ve got rid of the arse sniffer, so we can all stop keeping our backs to the wall when we go to the carsie now the fag’s cleared off.”

“He weren’t the only one,” Callum admitted, his heart pounding in his chest in time with the song. He thought he saw Alan’s eyes flicker with fear.

“Callum!” Stuart hissed in a warning, twirling a sunflower in his hand anxiously.

“No, Stu, I can’t do it any longer,” he replied with conviction. “I ain’t gonna be afraid anymore, I ain’t gonna be unhappy any more and hope that it just gets better. I ain’t gonna hide anymore. I’m gay, and I ain’t ashamed of that.”

There was silence for a moment, just a few seconds where the beat of the music thumped through the bar. Then Dogger let out a booming laugh, drowning out his beautiful song, encasing it in his own horror. “Don’t be a wanker, son!” he coughed out, his spittle all mincemeat and pus. “It ain’t much of a joke if you keep using the same punch line! There’s no more queers in here, and there won’t be anymore. You’re Jonno’s boy; you might be a few eggs short of a coop, but we know you ain’t sick in the head.”

“Actually there will be,” Callum said, who looked towards Steve. He nodded back with a small smile. “When Steve opens this place back up, it won’t be The Pig no more. He’s turning it into a gay bar.”

“Callum, we all get that you’ve had a shock, what with the only bit of pussy that would open up for you being six foot under,” Chunky said with a snort. Callum almost lost it right there, almost battered his stupid pasty head into the carpet. It was being pulled up in the morning anyway, so the stain wouldn’t matter. “But you’re sounding like you need a stay at the funny farm that Judy used to go to all those times! Not that it did her much good of course! You’re on another planet, mate!”

“No I ain’t!” he said, knowing he didn’t have to use his fists. Knowing he could use the truth finally slipping out into his words to cause more damage than a punch ever could. “Take a look at my dad’s face. Go on! Look! Now tell me I’m lying!”

Everyone in the bar looked at Jonno, his face set in silence, and hand clutching at his pint so hard that the glass must have been millimetres away from shattering.

“You’re a fucking bum boy?” Dogger said, when it was clear that his father’s face gave away everything. “You’re meant to be a solider! Do you mean to tell me that you and your dirty lot are taking over this place? You expect us to sit and listen to all the filthy things you do to each other?”

“Makes me sick!” Alan said. “Thinking about all those disgusting unnatural things you lot get up to.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it really leaves a bad taste in your mouth,” Callum bit back, with narrowed eyes.

“It’s that boy. That Mitchell!” Jonno muttered out, fist still clenched. “He’s just put some funny ideas in his head. Brainwashed him. You know what Callum’s like, he was always his mother’s son, always not quite right in his brain.”

“No, he didn’t!” Callum shouted back. “I know exactly what I want, and who I want. What, you’re all such delicate flowers now? I’ve had to listen to years of every one of you describe in disgusting detail of every woman you’ve rolled off of. What, you don’t want to hear it from me now? Dad, don’t you want me to talk about what a man I am? Don’t you want me to describe every way our bodies fit together? How I went at him so hard that I broke that booth over there?”

The table was on the floor before Callum could even finish the sentence, but it didn’t scare him. Even when Jonno gripped the pocket of his shirt with a crackle in one hand, and tried to claw at Callum’s face with the other, he didn’t care. He just let Stuart pull him off as a clanging bell rocked through the room.

“Can I remind you all that this is a wake!” Steve shouted out. “I know its customary for at least one punch up, but let’s at least get a few slices of quiche down us first! This place is closing tomorrow, and when we open we are going to be the best gay bar in London. You’re all welcome, everyone can come through that door and sit down with a drink. But if you think you can say one word of that claptrap, utter one little critical noise or even look in the wrong direction of my punters, then you’ll be barred for life. Now pick my fucking table back up and eat some of those bloody scotch eggs that Edna bought round, before they start stinking up the place!”

Callum stepped back a little as the group tidied themselves up, giving him glares as he made his way to the tape deck and picked the cassette out, the silence ringing through the pub now. Callum walked towards the bar, picking up his jacket.

“I refused to serve Sloppy Harris for a whole week because I thought he broke that booth,” Steve said, shaking his head with a smile. “Go on, clear off out of here! I don’t want to see you anytime soon!”

Callum grinned back at him, took the flyer off the bar, folded it up and put it in the pocket of his jacket. He went to place the tape back in its case when he noticed the label written on it. He turned it over checking he’d picked up the right tape from the deck. It had ‘Callum’ written on one side, and ‘Mardy’ written on the other.

It almost stilled him for a moment. How Judy had given them one tape together, not being able to separate them wholly. He slipped the case in his pocket and headed out the door, skipping down a few stairs before a voice stopped him.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” Alan mumbled out. “Why didn’t you tell them about me? You fancy me or something?”

He staggered down the stairs to meet Callum, clearly having a few too many drinks. “I didn’t tell them because it’s none of their business,” he replied, taking in the man before him. He looked like an apparition, his eyes glassed and hollow, his bones practically protruding from his skin. “But that don’t mean that you shouldn’t. It’s a beautiful world out there, Alan. Don’t keep hiding underground.”

Callum could sense it was going to happen, and quickly put his hand out to stop the man leaning in to meet his lips. “You’ll find someone, you’ve just got to be honest,” he replied, as the man slumped back against the wall. “You’ve got a wife and kids at home and they deserve the truth. You deserve to be able to speak the truth.”

He made his way down the remaining stairs, reaching into his pocket of his grey shirt, remembering the rustle there when his dad grabbed his shirt. Callum pulled out a small piece of folded yellow paper.

As he stepped outside, letting the air hit his cheeks, he unfolded it, letting out a sigh when he instantly recognised the handwriting.

_Wrong shirt! Wrong choice! You know what you want, Callum! Don’t let it slip away! Go get him! J x_

Callum stared at the writing for a few seconds, let his finger fly over the dried ink and every letter that was stained there. This was something he couldn’t ignore. He told himself that he wouldn’t listen to other people, and he’d make his own choices. This one though, this one he just knew was the right path to follow.

There was a knock at the door as Callum squeezed a final few items into his backpack. When he arrived home, he had gone straight to his bedroom, grabbing his bag from his closet and throwing in all the necessities he thought he might need. He got changed, and was now finishing off his packing.

“You off somewhere?” Stuart asked, as he entered the room, his eyes glancing at Callum’s bag. “Where you going to, Bruv?”

“I’m gonna find him,” Callum said forcefully. “And I don’t care what you say, I love him and I’m not going to let him go. So you can try and lock me in here if you want, but I’ll kick my way out if I have to!”

“Woah, woah!” Stuart said, holding his hands out. “I ain’t gonna stop you! If you want to go and be with Mitchell, then so be it. I can’t say it’s a choice most would make, but if that’s what you want.”

Callum frowned sceptically at his brother. “Well you’ve certainly changed your tune,” he replied, zipping up his bag. “I thought in your eyes he was the prodigy of Satan.”

“He still is, but if he’s who you want, I ain’t gonna stop you in trying to get him,” Stuart explained, before taking a seat on the bed. “I saw one of Judy’s brother’s down The Pig last night. He was a mess. I don’t want to end up like him, Bruv. I want whatever makes you happy. If that’s him, then so be it.”

Callum let out a big smile and sat down next to his brother on the bed. “He might not even want me,” he mused, with a shrug. He certainly wouldn’t blame Ben; he’d played him about enough. “I don’t even know where he’d be, I’m just gonna head off and keep texting and ringing him in the hopes he’ll eventually answer.”

“Well, why don’t you go to Walford?” Stuart suggested. “That’s where he’s from, ain’t it? Even if he ain’t there, perhaps someone will know where he’s headed to. Hey, maybe you can give Mick a knock? He might point you in the right direction.”

Callum nodded. “Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said, feeling a little more positive and with something else to go on. “I’ll miss you. More than anything else here, I’ll miss you. You should do that to you know? Look Mick up. It might be good for you.”

Stuart pulled him into a big hug, and Callum just held him for a second, drowning out everything else about this world. He wouldn’t say goodbye to his dad. He’s said enough goodbyes for a lifetime and that was one that didn’t warrant his time. He needed to find Ben. He just hoped it wasn’t too late.

He swiped his card over the reader, stepping out to the exit of the tube station. All around him were people making their way past, in a busy swaddle. He hadn’t left Canning Town the day of the funeral, choosing instead to wait until this morning, spending a final evening with his brother. When he got out into the streets though, there was a sea of people, collated with every colour of the rainbow, sparkling from one corner to another. They were all headed to the same place, though their destination mat have been different; Pride.

It was mostly people heading to the tube station to board the trains, that were laughing and joking with their friends, their faces full of joy. As he stepped out on to the street, he could see them litter past, the multitude of tones brightening his view and adding a colour and a purpose to an otherwise ordinary street.

Callum looked to his left, and then to his right, not really knowing which way to turn. He just chose to start following the yellow lines of the road around, hoping it would eventually lead him to finding Ben.

There was a bustle of giggles as people strode down street, heading to Walford East Tube station, and Callum couldn’t help but smile as and turn his head to look as he went, his eyes drawn to the colour. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going, but he was almost tempted to follow them, get caught in their riptide of happiness and hope he could get washed away in it.

“Halfway?” a familiar voice behind him called. “Halfway! I thought that was your boat!”

Before he knew it, he was caught up in a surrounding hug, that encased and comforted automatically. “Alright, Mick? I was hoping I’d see you.”

“Yeah?” Mick said, leaning back and giving his hair an affectionate pat. “What brings you around these parts? You’re looking well, son.”

“Thanks, mate,” he replied, and it was calming to look into eyes that cared and held compassion. “I’m just looking for someone actually. How you been, anyway?”

Mick gave a long sigh, and rubbed his chin with his hand. “I ain’t gonna lie, it’s not been a barrel of laughs,” he replied. “Got into a bit of debt, sold off the pub.”

“Oh mate, that’s awful,” he commented. “I wish I could help you. Ain’t there another bar around here you could invest in?”

“There’s the Albert there,” he said, nodding towards the darkened and closed bar. “It’s just your bog standard cocktail bar though. Can you see me trying to serve a boatful of yuppies every evening? We wouldn’t have enough to get the whole place anyway. I’ve bee racking my brain, trying to figure it all out mate, but it ain’t happening.”

“Something will come up,” Callum said, giving his friend a pat on his arm. “You’ll find what you need eventually.”

“Who’d you say you were looking for anyway?” Mick asked, thinking back to what he had said and squinting at him questioningly.

Callum paused for a second and licked his lips. “Ben Mitchell,” he replied, trying to make it sound casual, attempting to make those words sound like they meant nothing.

“Oh,” Mick said, with raised eyebrows. “Alright then son, let’s skip on ahead and see if we can’t track him down.”

They followed the road for a little while, and Callum asked after Mick’s wife Linda and his kids, congratulating him when he told him they had a baby a few years earlier. Mick stopped suddenly, waving to someone in the distance. “Oi! Jay” he called out to a young ginger haired man in a dark suit. “Come over here for a second.”

The man gave a sigh that was visible even at a distance, but started to plod over their way. “You alright, Mick?” he asked with a tired shrug. “What’s the problem?”

“No problem, Jay,” Mick said, giving a slight grimace when the man started to crick his neck. “I’m alright, mate. Better than you by the looks of it!”

“Still suffering from that kick about we had in the Square the other day, ain’t I? he replied. “I blame you for this!”

“I weren’t the one who tripped over the ball because I was too busy having a look at some passing treacle, was I?” Mick replied with a laugh. “Serve you right for having your tongue hanging out your head!”

“I’m a single man, and right at this minute I’m probably going to stay off single unless I find someone who don’t mind that my neck’s fused in one position!” he complained giving it another crick, before he caught Callum’s eye. “Alright?”

“Sorry, mate! This is Halfway, he’s a friend of mine,” Mick said, as Callum shook Jay’s hand and gave his first name. “You ain’t seen Ben about have you? He’s looking for him.”

Jay’s eyes ran up and down Callum suspiciously. “Is he?” he asked, before turning to Mick and raising his eyebrows. “I mean, is he?”

“Oh, no mate, nothing like that,” Mick said, before turning and squinting at Callum. “I don’t think so anyway.”

Callum was starting to feel a little self conscious under the looks, and was pleased when Jay took his gaze away when he spotted something in the distance. “Kathy!” he called out. “You ain’t seen Ben have you? He was about yesterday, but I ain’t seen him yet today.”

“He was here yesterday?” Callum asked, as the woman started to walk over. He thought Ben had gone a week ago, and he kicked himself for not coming and looking for him the previous night.

“He’s gone,” Kathy said with frustration. Callum narrowed his eyes a little, wondering how she knew Ben. “Left a note on the table this morning. I could flaming well kill him! As if I ain’t got enough to worry about with the stove packing in at the caff! I was up to my knees in bacon fat!”

“You need to branch out a little, Kath. Take a leaf out of Ian’s book and build an empire!” Jay suggested with a laugh. “That way you’d be able to overlook everything and you could put your feet up.”

“Chance would be a fine thing!” she said, huffing out a laugh. “I ain’t brave enough to branch out from egg and chips and cups of tea!”

“I’m sorry, when did he leave the note,” Callum asked, putting a hand on the woman’s arm gently, to bring her back to the topic. “Was it long ago?”

Kathy looked at him and then turned and frowned at the other two men. “Oh, it’s fine, Kath,” Mick said waving a hand to signify that he was harmless. “He’s a mate of mine from back in Canning Town. He’s on the look out for Ben.”

“Oh,” Kathy said, looking Callum up and down. He was starting to feel a little conspicuous, wondering if he stood out as different here. He was dressed in his favourite blue shirt and made sure he’d spent a long time on his hair this morning. He didn’t know why, but Callum felt like he was ready to be seen. He didn’t feel like hiding anymore. Kathy’s face suddenly broke into a large grin, and then he knew exactly who she was. He recognised that look. “Oh! He’s looking for Ben, is he? Well, my son seems to have developed a bit of taste!”

“Nah, it ain’t like that,” Jay said, shaking his head at her, before giving a slight pause. “Is it, Mick?”

“I don’t think so, mate,” Mick said, still giving Callum a glance. “I mean it weren’t like that as far as I knew.”

“it might be like that!” Kathy said hopefully, still grinning at him.

Callum was done. He was finished with hiding, or letting people make assumptions and thoughts about him that he couldn’t control. “We’ve been seeing each other and I let him go. I made a mistake, and now I need to find him before it’s too late,” he rattled out, watching as the three faces in front of him stared back at him. He felt his face creep a little red at his outburst. “Also, I have his jacket. I thought he might want it back.”

Kathy elbowed Jay in the ribs and he gave a grimace. “See! I told you it was like that!” she replied. “He could have only been gone less than an hour, love. The note weren’t there before I popped out. It didn’t say where he was going though.”

“He could be anywhere by now!” Mick said. “Sorry, son. I think you’re out of luck. Have you tried ringing him?”

“He’s left his phone as well,” Kathy said, her shoulders sagging. “It’s like he just wanted to get away and pretend we don’t exist.”

“You know what he’s like!” Jay replied. “He’ll get in contact eventually. I think you’re out of luck though, mate. End of the road.”

Callum slumped back, not believing that he had missed Ben by just an hour. It was Fate at her cruellest, letting him get so close and then whipping it away from him with no hope left.

“Do you think he’s gone abroad?” Mick pondered, and then the realisation hit Callum.

“Yeah, he said he’d get on a plane!” Callum replied, a little bit of hope fluttering around him, just gently flapping its wings. “So, he’s gone to the airport, right?”

Jay nodded, but didn’t look convinced by Callum’s enthusiasm. “Which airport, though mate? He said, exhaling deeply. “We ain’t exactly short of them in the area. It could be Heathrow, Gatwick, Stansted, City-“

“It’s Stansted!” Callum said excitedly, as the fluttering hope twitched the memory into his mind helpfully. “He’s gone to Stansted. Did he take the car?”

Giving a look of disgust, Jay shook his head. “Well I assume not, as that clapped out piece of junk is still hanging about on the street,” he remarked. “Who drives a car with one windscreen wiper? He would have probably got a cab.”

“Not today, mate,” Mick corrected. “He’d still be stuck half way down the street. A lot of the roads are closed with Pride, ain’t they?”

“What station goes to Stansted?” Callum asked, looking at them expectantly, running it through in his brain. “It’s Liverpool Street, ain’t it?”

Barely waiting for them to answer, he gave them all a wave, and started to walk back to the tube calling out promises to text Mick if he found Ben. He knew he was right, he knew it. All this time he had just known how to find him, and he only just realised it. That little thread that looped around their ankles and pulled them together was starting to tighten. Ben had gone to the station, that much he could count on. Callum just wasn’t sure if he would make it on time.

The station was packed, a blur of colour as light streamed down through the glass roof, catching and reflecting every tone and tinge that merged in the space, as people bubbled and bustled to their trains.

If Ben was in this crowd, then Callum couldn’t see him. He hoped he’d be able to, that he would just stand out from the clouds of colour and pull his gaze. Unless he wasn’t here yet. Or unless he’d already gone.

The boards were just a confusing blur of orange, some of them broken and not displaying the listings he’d hoped. Callum walked to one of the barriers, and gave a little wave to a guard to get his attention. “Sorry, which platform does the express to Stansted usually go from?”

The man leaned over the gate so he could hear, and Callum repeated the question. “Well, usually goes from this platform, number fifteen,” he replied, as Callum’s eyes dropped down to read his nametag. “You got a ticket?”

Callum shook his head with a sigh, and the guard pointed him towards the ticket machine. He walked over, craning his neck onto the platform, squinting to see any sign of Ben anywhere. If this were a film, then all he’d need to do was play out a song that they both recognised, holding a speaker high, and Ben’s face would appear from out of the window of a carriage. He’d run from the train and they’d embrace in the middle of a crowded platform.

This wasn’t a movie though, this was life, and at the moment Callum couldn’t even get the ticket machine to work. He kept on pressing his destination, but the screen froze. Then he tried pressing it again, and it skipped two pages ahead onto the wrong ticket. It was familiar in a way, that he wasn’t suddenly transported into some filmic land where the character didn’t spend ten minutes trying to get a ticket from a machine, instead just pressed a button and it zoomed out.

When he finally got to the end screen, the ticket coming up to Stansted, he fished around in his wallet. He didn’t think the machine would take a fifty pound note, but he smacked his debit card against the reader and it seemed to comply, etching out the ticket, depositing it in the draw with click.

Quickly jogging back to the gate, he fed the paper through the machine, giving a nod to Harold the guard on his way. This was as far ahead as he thought. Callum supposed he could go on the train and make his way through the carriages, hoping that he would see Ben there. There was no point just standing on the platform, the train could be leaving at any moment. “Excuse me!” he said, calling back to Harold, and pointing his hand towards the train. “What time does this leave for Stansted?”

Harold looked at the train in confusion, then back at Callum. “This train doesn’t go to Stansted,” he replied bewilderingly, as if he’d been asked if made a diverted stop to the moon. “This train goes to Newcastle.”

“You said that this was the platform that the trains to Stansted go!” Callum called back frustratedly, running his hands through his hair. “I asked and that’s what you told me!”

“No, you asked what platform the trains to Stansted usually go from,” he corrected, and Callum leaned back on the small railing separating the platforms. He could sense it was hopeless now, he was being foiled at every turn, like maybe there was a force that was fighting with him. “And I rightly told you that they usually go from this one, platform fifteen. Not today though.”

“Right, okay,” Callum said, with a wave of his hand. That little fluttering hope was just about to throw itself down on the tracks, ready to be squished and squashed until the last movement was gone. “So which platform do the trains to Stansted go from today?”

“What’s up, buttercup.”

Callum swung around quickly to the voice that travelled from platform fourteen. He almost didn’t believe the view that his eyes were showing him, sure that his mind had slipped into his old habits, daydreaming up what he hoped would be there, rather than how his life usually worked in realty.

This was far too vivid though. Ben was standing on the other side of the partition, dressed in a bold block darkness, as the rainbow colours skipped and weaved around him. “Your sense of time is really fucked up,” he said, pulling his bag securely around his shoulder, his lips set in a line and his eyes turning colder. “You’re a week late and a good few miles out of place.”

“I made a mistake,” Callum said, gripping onto the barrier, wishing it would just disintegrate in his hand, just melt away like sugar on his tongue. “I want to come with you. You know how I feel about you, and I reckon you feel the same way. I know you do.”

“Too late,” Ben replied, as the hurt bled out. He turned around and started to head towards the train on his side. “Go back to Canning Town, Callum.”

The thread was starting to unravel, to loosen them, and Callum sensed that this was his last chance, his only chance. “Judy’s gone,” he called out.

“Good for her, at least someone has the sense to get away,” Ben replied over his shoulder.

Callum shook his head and felt his eyes sting, the tears clawing and scraping at him. “No, Ben. Judy’s gone,” he repeated, hoping and willing for him to understand.

The way Ben stopped, suddenly and certainly, Callum knew he didn’t have to say any more. It was a moment, just a blink, before he turned his head back, and walked slowly to the partition between the platforms. “Dolly Bird?” he asked, almost as if he was hoping Callum would correct him. He couldn’t through, and just nodded his confirmation. “When?”

“The night before we were supposed to meet,” he explained. “My head, Ben. It’s just been screwed up for a bit, well probably much longer than that! I didn’t know what were real and what weren’t.”

Ben reached over the wall with a sigh, bringing his hand up to Callum’s face to knock away a ploughing tear from his cheek. The touch seemed to become addictive though, as he gave a nod and pulled him closer, rubbing his hand against the back of Callum’s neck as he put his arms around Ben and snuggled into his neck, closing his eyes and just breathing in, blocking out everything else around him.

“We still can’t do this, Callum,” Ben’s voice whispered in his ear, the words trying to break and shatter his world. “We’ve tried, it won’t work. I ain’t gonna force you to come out, that ain’t fair. I wouldn’t do that, but I can’t keep chasing after you only to have a ton of bricks fall on me every time your brain gets racked with guilt at what we’re doing.”

Callum leaned back, taking Ben’s face in his hands. “It won’t be like that now!” he said, the freedom washing over him in a gentle haze. It was almost sticking, almost solidifying into something tangible. “I come out to everyone! Everyone knows now! My dad, my brother, all the fellas down the bar. I even told Mick, Jay and your mum. I’ll tell anyone you want me to,” he said before turning around. “Oi Harold! Do you know what me and him got up to on the bonnet of an Escort?”

“Alright!” Ben said, laughing, pulling him back round and hooking his arms around his neck. “Alright! You say anything else and you’ll either give the poor sod a heart attack or a stiffy! Wait, what do you mean my mum knows?”

“I was trying to track you down, weren’t I?” he explained. “She weren’t happy with you and your note.”

“Did she get the package?” Ben asked curiously, swiping his fingers gently over the back of Callum’s neck. “I left it on the side.”

Callum shook his head. “She never mentioned it,” he replied, trying to get as close as he could to Ben, the barrier getting annoyingly in the way. “What were in it?”

“It was my share of the money I earned with Steve, minus a few quid to keep me going,” he explained. “How could she miss it? It’s a ruddy great big envelope full of fifty pound notes!”

Callum just shrugged as he looked into Ben’s eyes. He could fall deep in them, dive down and never want to return to the surface. The light from the ceiling glinted and sparkled into them, pulling Callum in to bathe and submerge into their renewed warmth. “I’ll text Mick to pop over and let her know. What’s she gonna do with the money? She don’t wanna invest in a bar, does she? Cause Mick is on the look out!”

“My mum and The Carters as business partners?” Ben responded wide eyed. “You’re really gonna put that idea in their heads, aren’t you? Next time we go back to Walford, we’ll probably find out we’ve funded another gay bar, you know that right? I can just see Shirley scowling behind the counter hurling little umbrellas at the punters!”

“When we go back?” Callum repeated, smiling a little at the meaning behind the words. “As in, when we go back together?”

“Well, you’ve proved your point,” Ben said, a little shyly, letting his eyes flutter down. “I can see you mean it. Just by the fact that you came straight to the platform when there’s a Krispy Kreme stand twenty foot in that direction, gives away you’re serious about this.”

Callum raised his head up a little peering over the station. “There’s doughnuts here?”

Ben just laughed and yanking him back down, letting their lips meet for a kiss. Callum didn’t want to let go, didn’t want to back away or separate, just in case it was all whisked away from him. Eventually though, Ben pulled back with a smile. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll get you a Kitkat off the trolley on the train, yeah?” he said, before glancing back at the platform. “We better get going, or we’ll miss it. You got a ticket to Stansted, yeah?”

Callum nodded. He was sure Harold would let him nip over to the other platform if he asked. His ticket was still in his pocket. It wouldn’t be needed though. “I have, but we ain’t getting on that train. We’re getting on this one,” he said, pointing towards the train on platform fifteen.

Ben furrowed his eyebrows at him. “And where does this one go to?”

“Newcastle.”

With a shake of his head, Ben pulled away slightly, gesturing the train with his hand like it was an express to the underworld. “No, Callum,” he said forcefully. “She won’t want to see me. I can’t just pop in after years and expect to be received as Dad of the Year.”

“It ain’t about you, is it?” Callum said, taking the rucksack off his shoulder and opening the zip up. “It’s about your daughter and what she wants, and what would be good for her. You need to do this, Ben. Before it’s too late. Here, you can give her this for a start”

Pulling an item out of his bag, he pushed it into Ben’s hands. He nodded, the significance sinking in. “I don’t know how to do this, Callum,” he said, fiddling the small cuddly dog around in his hands. “How do I not mess this up? How do I not mess her up?”

“You just be there for her,” he replied, rubbing his hands gently up and down Ben’s arms. “You let her make the choices that she wants to make, and then help her back up when the wrong ones knock her down. You listen to her, you support her and let her make her own way in the world. You just let her be who she is, not what you think she should be. Make the world beautiful for her.”

“Bit wise for an east end barman, ain’t you soldier?” Ben said, his lips quirking up, as he reached up for a kiss “Bit fit too. One problem though. That train’s leaving in two minutes and there’s no chance we’re getting a ticket on time. Took me ages to get one from that poxy machine, otherwise I would have been on time to catch the earlier train.”

Callum looked around him quickly, his brain bounding into action, before catching Harold’s eye. He started to pull his wallet out his pocket, fishing inside and snatching out the fifty pound note. He held it in front of the guard’s face. “What are the chances that you have to wander over and check the other side of the gate for a minute?” he asked, knowing this could either work well, or end up with him being dragged away by the police. He felt brave, just being here with Ben made him feel brave.

Harold eyed the note suspiciously, before sliding it out of Callum’s hand and into his front pocket. “Probably quite high to be honest,” he remarked. “We’re a bit low on staff today. Some trains haven’t even got a conductor.”

Callum took the hint with a smile, before turning, beckoning Ben with his hand, as he started to walk quickly up the platform. Ben tucked the dog into his bag, the head just poking out, before throwing it over the barrier, and then jumping over the gate as Harold started wandering a way.

A whistle blew from further up, and Ben started running, holding out his hand which Callum grabbed onto tightly as they sprinted up the platform, laughing all the way. They eventually reached the last carriage, jumping through the door and slinking up against the wall, as they got a few raised eyebrows from the travellers in their seats.

“To be fair, they shouldn’t need to charge to go this way,” Ben said, breathing heavily. “They should pay us for going up there.”

Callum shushed him a little between laughs. “You never know, you might like it up there!” he said, pulling Ben towards him. He didn’t care that people were looking. He didn’t care who saw. He knew what he wanted. Finally. “We could look around, find a little farm.”

“Are you back to me farming midget llamas again?” Ben replied, resting his forehead against Callum’s chest. “I’m sure you can’t move in Newcastle without fucking alpacas bouncing down the pavement! I’ll tell you what, if you’re lucky I might track us down a Harvester to have dinner at. That’s as close as you’re gonna get. Happy?”

“Yeah,” Callum replied, dragging Ben over to a pair of seats as the train started to move. They fell down into them, and Ben immediately hugged into his side, leaning up and placing a kiss on his chin. Callum held on tight. He'd never let go. “I’m where I want to be.”

Home.

The End

Music Playlist

This story was inspired by a few different things, and those themes run throughout, but hugely by the song 'Flowers' by Sweet Female Attitude. It's the song that Callum hears both times in Leigh-on-Sea.

  * You’re Not Alone - Olive
  * U Sure Do – Strike
  * Teardrops - Lovestation
  * Everybody’s Free – Rozella
  * I Luv U Baby – The Original
  * Free – Ultra Nate
  * Don’t You Want Me – Felix
  * Feel It - The Tamperer
  * Praise You - Fatboy Slim
  * Let Me Be Your Fantasy – Baby D
  * Build Me Up Buttercup – The Foundations
  * Suspicious Minds – Elvis Presley
  * Come on Eileen – Dexy’s Midnight Runners
  * The Man Who Got Away – Judy Garland
  * Get Happy – Judy Garland
  * Somewhere Over the Rainbow – Judy Garland



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @blueangel0909 on twitter
> 
> @moodyblueangel on tumblr
> 
> If you wanted to drop me a a word or two, or down in the comments below of course! Thank you for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it. xx


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